


Courting Vipers

by Yoru_The_Rogue



Series: DC Yoru'verse: The Smith Siblings Trilogy [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe, DC Extended Universe, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: F/M, My OCs, Not Beta Read, OC-centric, OC-heavy, Personal Headcanon 'Verse, The DC Yoru-Verse, but i canon blend, i canon-blend like there's no tomorrow, mild ocxoc in the background, mostly rooted in the Timmverse, my friends' OCs, ocxcanon, paraquel, please forgive my absymal attempt to include Spanish i'm still learning, this is my crappy attempt at a rom-com, this is some self-indulgent shit, will edit here and there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoru_The_Rogue/pseuds/Yoru_The_Rogue
Summary: Copperhead is a jewel thief and assassin for hire who's just a little fed up with not being taken seriously by anyone. Leslie Smith is a socialite heiress who's tired of putting on a face for the sake of people who want her to fit into their perfect little box for her. Together, the two of them just might help each other see that someone out there appreciates them for who they each are, after all...





	1. Talk To Me, Boy

There was a line someone once said about the best-laid plans of something-or-other. What exactly the point of the saying was, he didn't really know. But trying to remember it gave him a boost of confidence. After all, most supervillains only ever thought big. Big plans, big crime, it was all supposed to mean a big pay-off. But the thing was that those plans were usually foiled by the Justice League right away. After all, if you were going to attack city hall or something with a couple of giant robots and a mega-laser or whatever, the annoying band of tights-wearing jerkwads were _going_ to know and get there right away. And they were considerably more annoying to deal with than cops.

More supervillains needed to start investing in smaller plans too. They could work out in the end, provided you were smart about what you were doing. That was why, when a few of the others he normally ran with announced they were going to pull a heist, he declined their offer to come along and set off on his own. If Cheetah, The Shade, and the others were going to steal something valuable and well-guarded, that meant the Justice-junkies and most of the cops were going to be busy stopping _them_...leaving him free to wreak a little havoc wherever he wanted.

"And when I ace this thing," Copperhead said in a low voice to himself, hiding behind a circular pillar in the Gotham City Mall, a wide grin spreading over his face, "They're not gonna be calling me a stupid klutz anymore." Oh, he could just see the expressions on their faces already! His tail gave a rapid thrash of delight as he scanned the stores present, preparing to pick his target. His gaze fell upon a nearby jewelry vendor, and he grinned, baring his fangs as he slowly began to slip away from the pillar, unseen.

Or...so he thought.

A high-pitched squeal from behind him nearly shattered his eardrums, his back immediately going rigid as something yanked sharply on his tail. Even through the prehensile suit, that hurt! He spun around, shocked to see a young woman pulling on the very end of his tail, holding it close to her face for inspection, her blue eyes huge.

"Oh. My. _God!_ Is this real snakeskin?" She gasped, looking him in the eyes. He could only blink, stunned, and she leaned in close to his tail again, eyes going wider. A sharp prickle of annoyance shot through Copperhead as he attempted to yank his tail back.

"Let go," He grumbled, "That's gotta be sexual harassment in _some_ country—"

She let out another gasp as his tail slid from her grip, practically beaming.

"It _is_ real, isn't it?" Her voice had nearly reached a shrieking pitch as she leaned in closer to him, a greedy glint in those blue eyes. "Either that, or it's one really expensive, convincing faux-substitute."

He frowned at her, finally taking in more of her appearance. Her hair was platinum blonde with multiple clashing streaks of color running through it, and her make-up looked like it had been applied by somebody who worked for actors on movie sets. Her clothes and accessories though, despite being one of the most bizarre assortments of random laundry wars, had an incredibly pricey look to them. Certainly those boots were customs, and her jewelry...it hardly looked fake.

"I am not sure why that matters...?" He said slowly, voice dripping with mildly disturbed apprehension. "Look, missy, if you know what's good for you, you'll leave me—"

"Oh!" She exclaimed suddenly, blinking in surprise, as though she were finally seeing him and not his snake suit. "OH! I'm terribly sorry, sir! Where are my manners?"

And without so much as a second thought, she seized his right hand and pumped his arm vigorously in a firm business handshake that didn't suit her tiny form at all.

"I'm Leslie!" She said brightly. "Leslie Colleen Smith! But you can call me Les."

"L-listen, Miss Smith!" He snapped, pulling his hand free, "I'm gonna give you one chance to back off, _now_ , or else."

"Or else what?" She asked innocently, not budging like he'd hoped. He paused, more than a little bewildered and annoyed. Was this chick for real? He worked his jaw a moment, frowning, then leaned closer to her and let out a low hiss, exposing his forked tongue.

"I don't know, _chica_...how about you use your imagination?" He replied.

Leslie Smith raised her eyebrows sharply—Copperhead had a pretty solid guess she'd never been threatened before—but a second later her face fell and her lower lip stuck out in a sulky sort of way.

"Oh, I see," she muttered, "You don't want to get the chance to help me out?"

"What?" He said, getting more irritated by the second. Who did this woman think she was, anyway? Did she have absolutely _no_ idea she was talking to one of the most dangerous supervillains in the world? What the heck made her think he would want to help her?

"It's just—you see..." she began as she lowered her head and chewed at her lower lip, clasping her hands before her, "I could really use some help from such a big, strong guy like you. After all, I'm here _all_ by _myself_..."

He hesitated just a second too long, and she looked up at him from under her lashes, batting her eyes slowly.

"You wouldn't mind helping poor little ol' Les, wouldja doll-face?" She crooned. "Just for a little, teeny tiny short lil' shopping trip? Surely that's not too much for such a tall, handsome, strapping guy like you?"

He blinked and shook his head, trying to recall for a second what his name was. Apparently she took the motion as consent, for she seized his arm and started to drag him along, looking decidedly more cheerful.

"AWESOME! You're fantastic, honey!" She trilled, tossing him a positively wicked smile. "How much weight can that tail of yours support, hmm?"

"Wait, _what_?!"

*

He never thought being dragged from store to store in a mall by a woman would be quite so horrid. It was the most bizarre whirlwind of activity; she would move at breakneck speed between stores, as though worried her next destination would vanish if she didn't plow through people to get there first, but once in a store, Leslie Smith certainly seemed to take her time with things. And worse still, she wouldn't give him a second to rest.

"What do you think, the beige or the gray?" She asked, hefting two hangers bearing the same shirt in different colors, giving them a little rattling shake. He swallowed his desire to scream and counted to ten in his head, trying to focus on breathing in and out.

"Haven't you bought enough shirts already?" He responded, flexing his arm that was already laden with three other heavy shopping bags for emphasis. He had already tried for the past hour to talk her out of the idea in any way he could. Threats, bribes, threatening bribes, pointless "blackmail," anything. And she refused to acknowledge that he was attempting to do so. She just smiled each time and laughed, shaking her head and insisting he wouldn't do that. He had tried a last-ditch effort to scare her, telling her he had once almost killed Batman...which she turned around and used to add to her insistence that made him all the more suitable to spending the day helping her out. Finally, he gave in, feeling rather defeated and too weary to try to get out of it.

Still, her little shopping spree was getting absolutely ridiculous. Why in the world did she need to spend so much money on clothes? Where was she even getting all that money from, anyway? And why didn't she have a boyfriend or someone helping her out?

" _Please_ , doll-face." She said, rolling her eyes. "A girl should never have to limit her options for outfit combinations if she's going to dress to impress."

He cast a look at the bags weighing on his arm and made a noise somewhere between a sigh, a groan, and a high-pitched, dog-like whine.

"But you've only picked out tops so far!"

She blinked, surprised, and suddenly grinned at him.

"You're right, doll-face!" She exclaimed. "I need to head to a few more stores and pick out some cute skirts and pants! Oooh, and some shorts too, but nothing with satin, remember that. NO satin."

Copperhead slapped a hand to his face, cursing himself inwardly for even giving her the idea. He inhaled deeply, counted to ten in his head again, and massaged his temple, taking care to angle his hand so he avoided the poisoned fangs of his headpiece. Of course, Leslie seemed oblivious as she kept looking between the gray and beige shirts.

"Don't you, I don't know, have a boyfriend or something that can help you with this?" He demanded, gritting his teeth. "What are you even paying with for all of this crap?"

"One, no I don't. I'm really picky about guys, so trying to get anywhere close to my criteria for my type of guy is an impressive accomplishment." Leslie chirped, an easy smile on her face as she placed the beige shirt back on the clothing rack. She remained quiet for a long time, and it needled at him, until he couldn't stand her silence any more and had to speak up.

"And? What's two?"

At that, she giggled and tossed him a mischievous sneer.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

"If you were trying to be cute or flirty or whatever just now, you failed." He snorted. "Come on, just answer the question."

"I'm always cute, honey." She said, smiling in a sweet yet self-assured manner. "I don't know about that _flirting_ bit, but if flattering yourself helps you sleep at night..."

"FLA—! Oh, you little..."

She barely noticed the unfinished threat as her eyes locked on something beyond him, going wider and wider, and her expression turned almost predatory. She seized the front of his snake suit, and exhaled a sentence in a snarling breath.

"DITKO'S VINTAGE CLOTHING IS HAVING A BLOW-OUT SALE ON SHOES."

A chill ran down his spine and in that second, Copperhead had the dread feeling he knew exactly what was about to happen. Without warning Leslie seized the unpurchased garments and flung them at an attendant, who had the misfortune of passing by at that moment and catching them with his face.

"PUT THOSE IN LAYAWAY!" She roared. "I'LL BE BACK!"

Copperhead barely had time to turn himself around before she took off like a rocket, charging from the store at top speed, still hauling him by the fistful of his suit. He stumbled quite a bit and had to trot to keep up, his tail smacking into several unseen objects as he passed them by, and he let out a small yelp as she dragged him through the crowd and toward Ditko's.

" _Ay_! _Chica, tu es loco_! Slow down!!" He shrieked, trying to pry her hands off.

"What, are you kidding me?!" She shrieked right back at him, spinning around to look him in the face, standing on the soles of her feet as she nearly shoved her nose against his. Heat flooded his face and his back went rigid as he blinked, leaning back. "When there are dozens of lonely pairs of shoes just waiting to be adopted and taken to their new home?"

"They're just shoes!" He protested, trying again to tug her hand off him. "They're not puppies! Let go of me!"

Her expression grew chilly, her left eye began to twitch, and without another word, she renewed her grip on his suit and continued to drag him to the store. He silently prayed he wouldn't wind up dead for the remark about the shoes.

But time passed rather quickly in the store, and before long, he found himself sitting in a chair at a table in the food court. He was still rather laden with shopping bags, but as he was unsure what else he could do, he waited for Leslie to trot back over with the food she had been getting, as she had promised him a snack for his help. He tried to take the opportunity to think up a way for revenge, to finally scare her off and get around to plundering the place like he'd wanted. He was starting to wonder if there were any possible locations out of sight of security cameras where he could threaten her, when something was slammed down on the table in front of his face.

"What the—"

"Frappuccino, doll-face." Leslie said with a brilliant smile as she fell into the chair across from him. "For all your help today."

He stared at the tall drink for a moment, scowling slightly, before tentatively taking a sip. Caramel macchiato with a hint of mocha. Okay, so she was absolutely exasperating, but she at least could order a pretty good frapp.

"Yeah, whatever." He muttered, drumming his fingers on the table.

"You're welcome!" She said brightly, stirring her own frappuccino with her straw. "Say, tall, orange and handsome...you never told me your name."

He glared at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Oh I already know what you're _called_ ," she went on, waving a hand dismissively, and he straightened a little with pride when she added, " _You're_ Copperhead."

"So you _do_ know I'm dangerous." He said in a light tone, leaning forward. She merely shrugged, rolling her shoulders and taking a sip of her coffee.

"Is that what you call it?" She said sweetly. "Eh. I've seen you on several news reports covering things the Justice League does. You kind of get your butt handed to you a lot, don'tcha doll-face?"

The muscle in his jaw started twitching faster as he worked to contain his anger.

"Yeah?" He snarled, slamming his hands down on the table and rising sharply out of his seat. He had the feeling if people weren't staring enough already, they definitely were now, and for a moment, he didn't care if it led to a pair of handcuffs getting slapped on him and being dragged out to a police van. He wanted this dumb blonde to get a handle on just who she was dealing with. "Do you know what I could do to you? Snakes constrict their prey, sweetie. And I've got a lot of tail to work with here."

She blinked those wide, innocent blue eyes at him again and he lost some bluster.

"Stop that." He snapped.

"But doll-face, if you want to kill me, couldn't you have done it several times by now?" She asked, innocent and confused. He paused, thrown for a loop.

"Well...I don't really want to _kill_ you—"

"But aren't you also an assassin?"

"That's different! Contractual killing isn't the same thing, and it's not like I get too many jobs like—AGH! Stop it!" He groaned, pulling off his headpiece and throwing it to the floor to massage his temples. "You're giving me headaches with this!"

"What's with the Dracula haircut?" She asked immediately, "No offense, hon, but it does make you look kind of...well, old."

His head snapped up and he gave her a skeptical look. "How old do you _think_ I am?"

"Well, I was going to guess you're in your twenties, few years older than me, but that awful hairstyle makes you look like you're in your forties."

"Really? It makes me look that old?" He shook his head a second later, then gave her another skeptical look. "Wait a minute...how old are _you_?"

She beamed, her face lighting up. "I'll be eighteen in two weeks! This shopping trip is _my_ birthday present to _me_."

"Oh. AH! You're not even _legal_." He groaned, smacking his head against the table.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just you know...I can't really ask you," he said, glancing up and giving the pink streak in her platinum blonde hair a pointed look, "If the carpet matches the drapes or anything, not without getting my backside thrown in the pen again."

"Carpet? Drapes?" She echoed, blinking. "No, not really. See, Mom had to pick out EVERY set of curtains and stuff for the manor when we first moved in, but the carpet's all over the place, thanks to Daddy's contractors not doing their job right. They lost out on a seriously nice paycheck for that, but Daddy made up for it when he bought a TON of really nice Persian rugs for the better rooms, you know?"

He groaned and smacked his head against the table again. Sweet mother of baby Jesus, this girl was _dense_! Not just dense, but naïve. Not to mention, jailbait until further notice. Then, a second later, something in what she'd said clicked in his head finally and he shot up from the table again, eyes going wide.

"Wait a minute! Did you say 'manor?'" He demanded. She nodded slowly, raising an eyebrow at him as though he had taken a long time to catch on. "You're _rich_?"

" _I'm_ not rich," she answered immediately, "Just my family. Grandpa Elario started his own business when he was young and still living in Florence. Italian wines and all that. He married my grandmother because of some legal something-or-other or whatever, and she came from old money already. And then when Daddy grew up and inherited from them, they coaxed him into marrying Mom, and she's from newer money."

"Th-that's not the point! You're _rich_!"

"So?" She shot back. " _You_ still haven't told me your name."

"And with any luck, you won't have to hear that, Miss Smith." A new voice interjected as a powerful hand came down on Copperhead's shoulder and gripped it hard enough it might break. He froze, swallowing over a knot in his throat, and slowly looked about to find an all-too familiar face looking at him. Superman gave him a flat stare, and he attempted a weak chuckle in response.

"H-hey there, big guy. D-didn't think Gotham City was your scene..."

"It isn't." Superman answered. "You're lucky I got here before Batman responded to Miss Smith's call."

His eyes went huge and he looked back at Leslie, who was now sipping her frappuccino innocently while inspecting her polished nails.

"Miss Smith's call?" He echoed.

"Yes," Superman confirmed, "Though I do wonder how you knew Lois Lane would be able to get ahold of me, let alone how you got ahold of Lois in the first place, young lady."

She whipped a cell phone out of her shorts pocket, waving it for them to see.

"I just four-one-oned for the Daily Planet and asked for Lois. _Duh_."

Copperhead's jaw dropped, and he stammered wordlessly.

"And you're telling me you managed to keep _him_ —" Superman gave his shoulder a rough, unceremonious shake, "—preoccupied and out of trouble this whole time while you waited for someone to respond to your call?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Leslie said sweetly, and perhaps a little too innocently.

"You sold me out to Superman!" Copperhead finally found his voice, stunned and steadily getting angry. "You, you, you...you!! AGH!"

She spread her hands, pulling a face. "What was I supposed to do, just let you trash the place? This is the _mall_ , doll-face. The point of coming here is to _shop_. At the very least, I knew I could try to get you to carry my bags around and stay out of trouble."

"While your actions were brave and commendable," Superman piped up, sounding disapproving, "You probably should have called the police to begin with."

"Didn't think they'd be able to handle a supervillain as well as you," Leslie muttered, ducking her head and flushing pink, finally sounding utterly sincere, "Especially not him. He could have killed any of them. I've um...I've watched a lot of news coverage, actually."

Copperhead itched to make strangling gestures at her. _Now_ she was paying him an indirect compliment, after constantly insulting him and screwing with him this whole time?

"I hate you." He growled, glaring at her as Superman gave him an insistent tug that he knew better than to resist. She simply offered him an awkward smile.

"Sorry." She said with a shrug.

"Come on, Copperhead." Superman said firmly, spinning him about by the shoulder and forcing him to walk away.

"Aww, be gentle with him, Supes!" Leslie called after him. "After all, he kept out of trouble and helped me with my shopping!"

"And I'd sooner shoot myself than go through this again." Copperhead muttered.

"Now don't say that," Superman responded, the smirk all-too evident in his voice, "You might give off the impression you didn't like spending the day at a mall with a cute girl."

" _That_ girl," he exhaled sharply, "Is _not_ cute. She's an evil mastermind. And if I ever see her again, it'll be too soon."


	2. A Second Meeting

Leslie had more than felt that her expedition at the mall with Copperhead was rather a fun one, even if it was a bit rough on the nerves, and she fancied she rather wouldn't mind another adventure like the first. Provided of course, that the same snake-suit-wearing rogue was present; he had turned out to be far more interesting than she initially thought.

"Leslie darling, your mind is wandering..." Her mother said in a warning singsong, fixing her daughter with a disapproving expression. "Acting like a spacey little girl is not becoming of a young woman of your station and stature."

"Yes, ma'am." She huffed, getting to her feet. "I think I need to get my nails looked at, my cuticles look uneven."

"You just had a nail appointment two weeks ago." Her father snapped in irritation, not looking up from his work as he poured over the books. "And you just went to the mall five days ago."

"Now Henry," her mother said soothingly, "You know that it's in a girl's nature to want to look her absolute best." But immediately she looked up and her disapproving expression became skeptical. "Though I do wonder, Leslie, why you did not think to have Miss Reneé look at your nails when you _did_ go to the mall?"

"I was too worried about making sure I took advantage of the sales, Mummy." She answered, batting her eyelashes as innocently as she could. "I simply didn't have the _time_ to take notice of my nails."

There was a long pause in which her father finally looked up and took notice of her expression, frowning slightly, and her mother wore a similar expression, drumming her long, fake nails against the table's surface. Finally after a moment, her father sighed, shook his head, then returned to his work, muttering under his breath about teenage girls.

"Just be careful driving down there!" Her mother groaned in exasperation, shaking her head. "Take Steven's car, will you?"

Leslie grinned, rushed to the main foyer, snatched the keys to her eldest brother's convertible, and darted for the door. There came an inevitable shout when Steven realized what was happening, for he had the uncanny ability to sense when something was amiss concerning his car regardless of his location in the manor, but she ran outside regardless, shouting a half-coherent apology to him. Within seconds, she was buckled in and roaring out of the driveway, heading for the area of Gotham where the mall was located. The Reneé Salon wasn't too far from the outlet mall itself, and the owner of the salon, Nanette Reneé, was a personal friend of Leslie. If anyone knew how to help Leslie with this puzzle, it was Nanette.

*

Anyone who frequented the Reneé Salon knew that the owner and proprietor, Nanette Reneé, had a tendency to greet all of the regulars by announcing that her 'favorite customer' had arrived. But the words carried a bit more weight to them when that regular was Leslie Smith. Nanette would immediately pass off anything she was working on to one of her employees, and personally see to Leslie's every need, whatever it might be. So it came as no surprise to anyone that morning when Leslie walked in the door that Nanette immediately shoved a stack of folders at her assistant and pulled Leslie to the best chair in the salon.

“Leslie, Leslie! _Bonjour_ , darling! It has been too long! Tell Nanette what it is you need of me.” She crooned, adjusting the seat with meticulous care.

“My cuticles are looking simply atrocious, Miss Reneé.” Leslie sighed dramatically as she looked at nothing in particular and held up one of her hands for examination. Nanette immediately seized her hand, squinting at her nails.

“Darling, are you in need of glasses? Your cuticles are looking as lovely as ever.”

“No,” Leslie lowered her voice, “But I do need to talk to you.”

“I'm sure I can find something to improve.” Nanette said with a nod, sidling into the seat across from her and rummaging through the various drawers of the vanity. After a moment, she brandished a nail file with an exaggerated flourish, and set to work on Leslie's extended hand. “What is the matter, my dear? Are your parents trying to send you to another dreadfully boring college? Is that brutish tailor of yours overcharging you on an outfit?”

“Sophie never overcharges me.” Leslie said with a bit of surprise. “She only overcharges Daddy. And in any event, neither of those are what I am here about.”

“Pray tell, sweetheart.”

“Nanette, you'll never guess what happened five days ago. I was at the mall—“

“Naturally.”

“And I met a super-villain.”

The stylist slowed to a pause, raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows at the blond girl, her expression carefully neutral. “Oh?” She said, blinking once. “Which one?”

“Tall Hispanic hottie in an utterly comical snake-suit.” Leslie answered. “Copperhead. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's a doll, really.”

“Oh,” Nanette let out a sigh of relief, “Just him.”

“Pardon me, Miss Reneé?”

“What I mean to say dear, is that you could have run into someone much, much worse. This _is_ Gotham City, you know. _Mon dieu_ , you could have been hurt!”

“I could have been hurt no matter who it was.” Leslie responded coolly. “Fact of the matter was, I was a nervous wreck the entire time. I dialed four-one-one and got Lois Lane of the Daily Planet to put in a word for Superman to come and take Copperhead away, but heavens knows when that could have been, so I talked to him.”

“You _talked_ to this Copperhead?”

“Bullied him into helping me shop, more like,” Leslie confessed with a small wince. “I know, it wasn't a wise idea. On several levels. He has no sense of color coordination when it comes to matching shoes with a cute vest. But that's not the point! The thing is, Miss Reneé, at the end of the day, it was kind of fun. I enjoyed spending that time running around with him and trying to get him to talk to me.”

Nanette raised her eyebrows sharply again. She had rarely heard Leslie talk about any male in such a manner. The girl had gone through roughly eleven boyfriends since she had first started coming to the salon, and none of them had ever lasted long. And that look in her blue eyes...that was new. The French woman found her curiosity piqued, and carefully, she resumed her filing of Leslie's nails, a plan starting to formulate at the back of her mind. Casually she prompted, “You are thinking of dating a furry, _mon ami_?”

“A _furry_?” Leslie echoed in disgust. “He isn't a _furry_ , and I _don't_ want to—“

“You're right, a snake suit means he's technically a scaly. Either way _mon ami_ , I would recommend you be careful if you ever run into him if he's wearing shorts. Furries in shorts, _ce n'est pas bon_.” Nanette went on. “Trust me darling, I would know.”

Leslie fixed her with a wary expression, tugging her hand away and only extending the opposite one with a bit of hesitation.

“ _Non_ , _non_ , darling,” the manicurist sighed, “I am not judging you. And if you say he is a handsome Spaniard, well then! I can only encourage that you snatch him up before someone else does. But truly, you must be careful with super-villains, sweetie.”

The young heiress sighed as well and smiled in relief. “This is why I came to talk to you, Miss Reneé. I had a feeling my father would have kittens if I said anything, and I don't think I'm ready for him or my mother to find out that I even met the guy.”

Nanette smiled in a crooked sort of way, the way her brother always said she did when she was up to something—she herself felt he had a similar sort of smirk when he was scheming, given they were twins—and decided it was time to fish a little. “Speaking of your family, do you not have that one social event to attend this evening?” She asked in a sweet voice. “Some country club graduation open house?”

“Ugh, yes.” Leslie confirmed with a bit of a grumpy huff. “Eric Carroway.”

“Oh, one of your exes? Which one is he, again?”

“Ninth,” Leslie grumbled, “He still wants to get back together. Not that that is ever going to happen. He's a stuck-up, selfish, chauvinist pig. Personally, I'd rather not go, but Mummy and Daddy are _insisting_. It is going to be boring as hell, Miss Reneé. Nothing but a testosterone gathering of Eric and all of his idiot friends, showing off their macho muscle cars and team jackets. You wouldn't be able to rescue me, would you?”

“Sorry, darling,” she shook her head, smile still in place, “I am afraid that I'm going to be busy tonight. Are you going to be at the Carroways', or are you going to be at that country club building?”

“The country club,” came the answer, “I suppose that means it'll be easier for me to get away from all of the idiots and their parents if I want to, though. The staff knows me well enough I could hide out in the women's lounge if I wanted.”

“Of course,” Nanette agreed, storing the information away in her head, mind already working on a scheme, “I am sorry I won't be able to rescue you, darling.”

“It's alright. I suppose I can just hope for something to happen.”

“Always. If you would excuse me for a moment, Miss Smith, I just recalled that there is something I have to call my brother and tell him about.”

*

Copperhead found himself perched on a wall surrounding a large country club estate, wondering what in the world he was doing. He had been en-route to some prison facility or other that he couldn't recall the name of, when he'd been inexplicably rescued by some mega-weird...person called the Peacock. While he had simply stood there like an idiot, trying to figure out if the Peacock was a dude or a chick, they had explained to him that there was a party or something happening at a country club that might be of interest to him. All those wealthy Gothamites, stuck in one spot together, just waiting to be robbed. He had gone along with the Peacock and followed them to this place; the idea sounded appealing enough. But now that he was here and looking at the place, something was nagging at the back of his mind. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. He shook off the thought, irritated with himself. How was this _not_ a good idea? He had less chance of getting caught and captured than he did of getting away with a nice haul, and this place had very little in the way of security and surveillance. Easy pickings. He crept over the wall, dropping into a low crouch, and moved as quickly and stealthily as he could across the perfectly trimmed lawn. He slipped in through a side door that was lit by an overhead light. Thankfully the hallway inside looked rather deserted, and that was an added bonus. Now all he needed to do was find all these rich idiots and scare them witless into giving him things.

The sound of a few people coming down the hallway spurred him into action and he climbed the wall, clinging to the ceiling tightly, forcing himself to remain still. Somebody passed beneath him, talking amongst themselves animatedly, and he went unnoticed. He let out a quiet sigh, some of the tension leaving his body, and crawled along the ceiling, following the hallway. He would have to come across this party sooner or later. Wasn't it supposed to be some big event, anyway?

The hall ended abruptly, leading out into a giant, circular room, where a vast crowd of formally dressed people were milling about, laughing and chatting. He grinned to himself. Now this was more like it! The only issue he had now was trying to figure out how to turn this party upside-down. As he hung from the hallway ceiling, just in the shadow of the doorway's arch, there came a sudden, sharp, downward yank on his tail.

“What in the world are _you_ doing here, doll-face?”

His heart seemed to stop in fear for just the slightest instant, and he let out an angry groan before glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, there she was, the same girl from the mall, looking up at him with a strong grip on the end of his tail.

“Not you again!” He whined. “Listen, Lauren, or whatever your name is—“

“Leslie.” She corrected. “Are you going to rob us?”

“...you're direct.” He grumbled.

“Because if you are, you might want a bag or something, you know.”

He blinked at her, stunned speechless. Come to think of it, she was right. He did need something to carry loot in. But then a red flag went up in his mind.

“Why are you trying to help me?” He demanded.

“Well, for starters, if we linger in this doorway too long, someone's going to notice, and then you're going to get caught before you even have a chance to do anything, really.” She remarked, and he frowned. He hadn't thought about that. Reluctantly, he began to edge farther back into the hall, guided for the most part by a few more tugs on his tail from Leslie. And a few seconds later, it appeared she was right, as a large group of teenage idiots were passing right by the hall, and probably would have spotted him where he had been before. He glanced back down at her.

“Thanks for that.”

“Ugh, don't mention it,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “I've been trying to avoid Eric and his _goon_ squad all night. You can only tolerate so much muscle car talk for so long. And that brings me to my other reason for helping you.”

“Which is?”

“I'm stuck here, so I'm bored.” She replied, letting go of his tail and turning on her heel. “Having you around will liven things up. Come with me, doll.”

He watched her for a second, then with a bit of difficulty, he turned himself around and shinnied after her, mildly curious. She led him to a closed door he hadn't paid attention to earlier, labeled “stairs” and opened it up, slipping inside. He followed, detaching from the ceiling and dropping down into the stairwell behind her as quietly as he could. Leslie glanced behind her as the door shut, as though to check and make sure he was following, then nodded and began to descend.

“You're crazy, _chica_.” He declared, half-impressed.

“You know, that's probably the second or third time you've ever said that to me.” She said, her tone cautious. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment?”

He didn't answer. He had a feeling even if he told her no, she would take it as one anyway. She gave him another skeptical look, but continued leading him down to the lower floor, where there waited another heavy, forbidding door.

“This should bring us out right next to the women's lounge.” She explained. “There won't be anyone in there, they're all up on the ground floor at the party. So we should be able to get in there and find you a pillowcase or a duffel bag or something.”

“Uh-huh.” He agreed, mildly sarcastic as he recalled what had happened five days ago. “And how do I know this isn't some evil mastermind scheme of yours to get me to go somewhere while you call Superman or Batman or the Flash or somebody?”

She turned around to face him and crossed her arms. “Well for one thing, I'm going to be with you the whole time, so if I were to call anybody, I'm sure you'd notice that.” She answered. “For another, I _hate_ these parties. People like Mr. Wayne make being rich look like a nonstop party, but it sucks sometimes, okay? People have way too many expectations of you, and you always have to dance to their tune. You put a toe out of line, and nobody's going to ever let you forget it or live it down.”

He leaned back in surprise. She didn't sound anything like the ditzy-blonde act from earlier in the week.

“And finally,” she added, cheeks turning slightly pink, “I think you're cool.”

“I'm cool?” He echoed, jaw going slack.

“Yes. You're a stupid dork, but you're cool. And I don't want you getting hurt by a ton of bigger stupid dorks thinking that they're going to play hero.”

“Oh...” He said slowly, a thought coming to his mind, and he grinned at her. “Does uh, does that mean you _care_ about me, Miss Smith?”

“This coming from the same guy who whined five days ago that I'm not even legal.” She snorted, arching an eyebrow at him. “Glad your ego is intact, doll-face.”

She opened the door and strode into the hallway beyond, leaving him to scowl and stomp after her.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” He asked.

“Because you still haven't told me your name.”

“You can call me Copperhead.”

“But that's so impersonal and aloof!” She protested. “I want a _name_.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, tensing his shoulders. He still didn't trust her. She was way too confusing and sneaky. But still...it had been a long time since he had actually told anyone his real name. And besides, what was a little rich girl going to do with it anyway?

_It'll be better than being called 'doll-face' all the time_. His brain supplied.

“Okay, look. I'll tell you, but you better promise you're only going to call me Copperhead when there is anybody else around. I don't like people knowing my name.”

She made a quick zipping motion before her smile with two fingers.

“My lips are sealed, handsome.”

He felt a blush creeping up his neck. He hoped it wouldn't show.

“My name is Luiz, okay?” he exhaled in a low whisper, “Luiz Vibaro.”

Her eyes lit up and her expression became warmer, her smile genuine. “Luiz? I think that's a lovely name, Copper.” She murmured. “It suits you, somehow.”

This time his entire face flooded with heat. “Sh-shut up, rich girl. What would _you_ know about it? And roll the sounds when you say it. It's Luiz, not Louise.”

Leslie just rolled her eyes, because she had said it right and they both knew it. She turned on her heel and trotted a few yards away to a closed door. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, but as he drew closer, she put her ear against the door, listening.

“Crap,” she whispered. “Bad timing on my part. I think someone's in there.”

“Oh, peachy.” He scoffed. She backed away from the door, glancing down either adjacent corridor, then grabbed his hand and darted to the left.

“This way,” she murmured, “We can hide in the snack bar room for a minute.”

“Oh yeah, I _so_ need a Snickers before I _rob_ everyone.” He spat sarcastically.

“If you want a Snickers, I'll get you one.” She responded coolly, “Just keep quiet.”

She pulled him into a room several doors down from the first, and pushed it lightly closed, letting out a sigh of relief. Copperhead glanced around, unsurprised to find himself in what looked like a small office cafeteria with several small tables, a half-kitchen and a few vending machines.

“You were _serious_ about the Snickers.” He blurted out.

“Well, yeah.” Leslie answered, giving him a weird look. “If you want one, I'll buy you one. Heck, I can buy you the vending machine's entire stock if you want.”

“Really?” He asked, staring at her incredulously. “The whole thing?”

“I'll throw in the machine too, if you don't believe me.” She retorted, crossing her arms, eyes half-lidded in a challenging look. He frowned at her, arching one of his thin, dark eyebrows.

“You seem a bit...generous with all that money, Leslie.” He said slowly, tail slowly cutting the air behind him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being nice?”

“You say that like I'm not allowed to be nice.”

“Most rich kids by definition aren't. Especially rich girls.”

“How many rich kids, particularly girls, have you known?”

“Plenty.” He answered with a bitter scowl. “Not always easy, being a Hispanic kid in a school full rich white brats, much less when you're born a Metahuman freak.”

Without warning, she frowned and her hand shot out, closing over his nose and giving it a sharp tweak. He let out a yelp of protest and brushed her hand away.

“That was for the stereotype.” She said firmly, planting her hands on her hips.

“If you broke my nose...” He growled, and she rolled her eyes before surging forward and wrapping her arms around him in a brief yet tight hug.

“Don't be a baby, baby.” She huffed, and he could only stare in red-faced shock.

“Wh-whaaa-WHAT was THAT for?”

“Everything else.” She answered, smirking and crossing her arms. “Sorry about the sucky backstory, Copper. You want a Hershey's or something? I find chocolate helps solve a lot of angst issues.”

He stammered soundlessly, opening and shutting his mouth rapidly, unable to think of what to say to that. Finally, he found his voice as he mirrored her posture, giving her a skeptical look.

“Missy, you're _incredible_.” He snorted. Her smile grew.

“Well then,” she purred, “I'll take that as a compliment.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I thought you were going to help me find some kind of bag or something. Are you stalling?” He demanded.

“You still don't trust me?” Leslie asked, eyes going wide with shock.

“After that stunt you pulled at the mall with the big blue boy scout? Huh-uh.”

Her mouth dropped open, her lower lip began to quiver, and her blue eyes went huge and glassy. Immediately he realized what was about to happen and he shook his head, trying to wave his hands gently to calm her down.

“Y-you...don't like me.” She squeaked, eyes welling up with tears.

“No no no, I never said that!”

“YOU DON'T LIKE ME!” She wailed, burying her face in her hands. He smacked himself in the forehead. Of all the dumb—!

_I'd like to know how this could get any worse._ He thought cynically.

The door crashed open, a towering, point-eared silhouette filling the frame.

“Aw, crap.” He muttered. Leslie looked up, peeking out between her fingers and sniffling a little, hiccupping slightly.

“Buh-Batman?” She said, confused.

“Didn't think you'd be so quick to pull a job right after slipping free, Copperhead.” The Dark Knight growled in his low, rumbling voice. “Not very clever.”

His heart started to hammer in fear, and without so much as a glance at her, he wrapped his left hand around Leslie's wrist, pointing at her with his free hand.

“Hostage.” He said to Batman, spitting out the first word that came to mind.

“ _Real_ smooth, doll-face.” She groaned.

“I'll bite her.” Copperhead added for good measure. Batman smiled coldly.

“Right. Tell me another one.” He responded dryly, clearing the span of the room in two quick strides, and the world exploded in a starry blur of pain as a fist connected sharply with Copperhead's abs. He let out a low hiss, doubling over but not losing his footing. To his amazement, Leslie let out a shriek of protest.

“Don't _hurt_ him! He wasn't doing anything!”

“You and I both know that isn't the case, Miss Smith.” Batman growled, and a Kevlar-encased hand came down on Copperhead's right shoulder. He thought he heard something pop and crack as pain shot through his arm and collarbone. He shut his eyes against the pain and feebly held up both hands, palms open.

“Okay, okay...” he groaned, “I give, Batman, I give! Uncle.”

He was hauled firmly upright with a rough yank, and a second later, the headpiece of his suit was pulled off none-too-gently. Tentatively, he blinked and opened his eyes, just in time to have Batman latch a set of high-tech cuffs onto his wrists. They tightened instantly, and he knew right away he wouldn't be able to slip out of them.

“Not used to you giving up without more of a fight.” Batman remarked, walking around him and snapping something onto his tail that gave him a small jolt, and his lower spine instantly went numb. He scowled at the vigilante, bearing his teeth.

“ _Que te jodan_ , _imbécil_.” He spat, which only received him another squeeze to the shoulder, and he groaned in renewed pain.

“I get that a lot.” Batman remarked.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Leslie asked, “What did he say?”

“I'm not repeating it in English.” Came the curt reply. “If this idiot's behaving himself a bit more on your account—“

“Behaving myself?” Copperhead laughed mirthlessly, “Because of _this_ skinny little surfboard of a rich girl? And I thought _she_ was crazy.”

The temperature of the little room suddenly seemed to drop, and he knew right then and there he had said one of the most stupid things he could. Glancing at Leslie, he felt a lead weight drop in his stomach. She looked like she'd been slapped in the face. This time, her nose and eyes flushed a deep, angry red as she began to cry for real.

“You're an idiot.” Batman grumbled, yanking on the cuffs and dragging him from the room. “Women aren't my strong point, but _that_ was _stupid_.”

“You don't have to rub it in...” Copperhead mumbled, flushing in shame as he looked down at his feet. It shouldn't matter, not really, but he couldn't help but feel he'd just lost a chance to have an actual friend for once.


	3. Windows And Pianos

“What's buggin' ya, buddy?”

He didn't know who it was, and at that moment he didn't really care.

“Buzz off, moron.” Luiz muttered under his breath, turning on his side to face the wall as he curled up on his prison cot, the end of his tail curling in annoyance. He had trouble moving it as it was, given the control ring that had been slapped on him near the base of his tail. They'd left it on him, and as if it wasn't sore enough on its own, it was starting to chafe and scrape too.

“Aww, not lookin' forward to your little chat you're going to have with the big guys, huh?” It was a guard outside his door, he figured, if the tone of false sympathy was anything to go by. “I heard they might even bring Wonder Woman in for it. Talk about lucky! _I_ wouldn't mind getting interrogated by her.”

He resisted the urge to make any remark about the guard's sheer idiocy. Copperhead had seen Wonder Woman before, when he and the rest of his acquaintances went up against the Justice League. The Amazon was a tank. A tank in a bikini. He didn't want to be within a mile of her.

“Not feeling too chatty right now, huh? Well, you might want to change that when Superman and Batman get here. I'll come back and get you then.”

Footsteps hit the floor outside his cell, and the guard was gone. Good riddance too. The talkative guards were always annoying. Idly, he began wondering what exactly was going to happen with this interrogation. He hoped it would just be Superman who showed up. Big blue couldn't intimidate worth crap. Batman though...Batman had this weird way of looking at a guy like he already knew every dirty thing you did in your life and was just waiting for you to spit it all out.

“He's gonna eat me alive.” Luiz said with a nervous swallow, grabbing the end of his tail and wringing it in his hands. Assuming Wonder Woman didn't tear him apart first. Not that she necessarily had any reason to do so, but she gave off a bad vibe to the Metahuman thief.

“I gotta get outta here...” His voice escaped him in a low hiss as he let his tail go to thrash in irritation. He flung himself off the cot, pacing rapidly for a few minutes before his eyes strayed to the small window on the wall facing outside. It was barred on the outside, of course. Whoever had built this place knew better than to place the bars in the frame of the damn window, because that would mean they'd be easy to loosen after a while.

Although...

The bar grate outside the window was screwed into the wall outside by four major screws at the corners of its frame. They weren't too difficult to see, if he angled himself right. He gave his tail a quick flex, shucking off the control ring with a bit of effort, and smiled.

*

“Squirt, you're totally stupid.” Steven grumbled as Leslie marched from her closet with another armful of clothes.

“You're just mad because you don't want me using your car when Mummy gave me permission.” She answered, thrusting her chin into the air defiantly as she set the clothes into a box.

“You don't have a right to go driving my car!” Steven answered in a growl, crossing his arms. “Knowing you, you're going to wind up crashing it because you'd speed to get to a sale on make-up.”

“Oh, like we can't afford to get you a new one.” She snapped, stomping back into her walk-in closet. “Did you just come in here to whine and moan, Stevie Wonder? Because if you've not picked up on it yet, I'm busy. Either help or get out.”

“What the hell have you got stuck up _your_ ass, brat?” He snorted. “You've been acting like you're PMSing early since two days ago.”

Chills ran down her spine and her shoulders broke out in goosebumps as images of a golden-eyed Hispanic man filled her mind. A second later, the memory of the last thing he had said followed, and with it, the same sting as before. She leaned out of the closet and opened her mouth to throw a sharp retort at her eldest brother, when another figure entered her room and spoke up.

“Steve's right, Les.” Anthony, the middle child of the family, was always gentle and soft-spoken in his nature, despite the fact he towered over both his siblings and looked like he could easily be a football team all on his own. “You've been... _off_ lately.”

“See?” Steven huffed, vindicated and loving it.

“Shut up, assface.” Anthony groaned, cuffing his elder brother none-too-gently behind the ear. “Get out of here. Les, you can borrow my car if you want.”

“Thanks, Tony.” She said with a smile, beaming at her other brother. “Nice to know _somebody_ around here still has some sibling compassion.”

Steven grumbled under his breath at the two of them and stormed out of the room, leaving silence in his wake. Leslie shook her head and went back into her closet, pulling out the articles of clothing she still needed to gather together. She was working on mentally cataloging everything she was picking out, when she was suddenly aware of her older brother's continued presence in her room. She walked back out of the closet, arms full once more, and stared up at Anthony.

“What?” She asked.

“Les, kiddo...I'm worried about you.” He answered. “I know Steven's a bit—“

“Coarse?” She suggested. “Blunt? Inconsiderate?”

“All of those.” He sighed. “But he did have a point. You're upset about something. Kid...you know you can talk to me about things, right? I won't tell our parents, much less Steven.”

She paused, feeling rather guilty, and preoccupied herself for a moment by wrapping one of the long silk scarves in her box around her hand over and over. She wanted to tell her family about Copperhead even less than before, and she was closer to Anthony than the rest of them. Still, a stubborn, angry part of her rebelled at the idea, and she simply continued to wrap and unwrap the scarf around her hand.

“Thanks, Tony.” She murmured again, hanging her head. “I'm not sure I want to talk about it yet, though. It's...complicated, and it hurts.”

“Is it a guy?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, and she jumped. “It _is_ a guy.”

“Yes, you big dingbat!” She huffed, unwrapping the scarf and returning it to the box. “This is about a guy. And like I just said, I don't want to talk about it yet.”

“I'm not going to make you!” Anthony said quickly, throwing his hands up and backing away a few steps. “You can have your space; just know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk about this guy. I mean...dang, kid. If a guy has this sort of effect on you, then...”

“Then what?” She demanded, crossing her arms at him, and he seemed to deflate a little.

“Then he's really got to be something special.” He finished.

She frowned, her heart giving a little flutter, and looked away. “I'm not sure yet.” She responded softly, staring blankly into the box full of clothes. That much at least, was true. She had been kicking herself mentally the last couple of days, having forgotten that Copperhead was a heartless thief and killer by reputation. She had been enjoying his company too much to stop and think that he probably could have killed her whenever he wanted to, whenever she stopped amusing him. As it was, she was rather lucky this hadn't happened, though she liked to think it was because she managed to keep him off-guard both times they met.

“Well, you'll tell me when you're ready to talk, right kiddo?” Anthony said gently, reaching out and ruffling her hair in a fond way. “I'll be here for you.”

“I'll hold you to that.” She answered, chuckling and swatting his hand away from her hair. “Keys please, brother dear?”

Anthony strode to the door of her room, winked and said with a smile, “Nope.” A second later he tossed her the keys and she caught them with a bit of a bounce, grinning wickedly. Now wasn't the time to worry about super-criminals. After all, she had some place to be, and she wasn't about to be late. With a renewed spring in her step, Leslie hauled the box from her room, careful not to spill any of the clothes, and marched down to the garage to find Anthony's Hummer. Within moments, she and the box were loaded inside and ready to go, and she was roaring down the driveway and out into the streets of Gotham City.

It took her little time to find the store she was looking for. She had only been there once before, since the other location she usually went to had closed down, but she made it with time to spare before they locked up for the night. She parked, hopped out, and waved at the windows, waiting for the owner to catch sight of her. A manager finally noticed her waving, waved back, and motioned to a side door on the building. With a grin and a nod to show she understood, she unloaded the box from the passenger side of the car and marched it to where they were waiting. Several of the women working were there as well, and they practically squealed with delight when they saw the box of clothes.

“Miss Smith, this is probably the largest selection of anything you've brought to us before!” The owner said in mild shock as he joined the others, blinking rapidly. “And I daresay given the variety you've brought us in the last month or so...it feels like you're intentionally shopping to find clothes to keep us in stock for women of all sizes.”

“I'm not going to confirm or deny that, Mr. Graceheart.” She answered with a coy smile.

“Do you even have a wardrobe left, Miss Smith?” The manager asked hoarsely as she lifted one of the hats from the box.

“Enough to get by.” Leslie replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Will you be able to use any of these?”

“You know we're able to use all of them.” Graceheart answered, frowning at her. “But Miss Smith, this isn't really necessary.”

“I know it isn't.” She answered, shrugging. “I do this because I want to.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and marched away from the side door of the thrift shop, returning to her brother's car. This wasn't the first time Mr. Graceheart had indirectly implied she was donating clothes in order to prove something. Leslie rolled her eyes as she leaned against the car for a moment. In her opinion, anyone who called himself “Graceheart” and ran a secondhand clothing shop was the one with something to prove. She left in a bit of a huff, determined to put as much distance between her and the thrift shop—and its owner in particular—as possible.

But she wasn't even a third of the way home when she had a sudden realization.

“SHOOT! I tossed my wallet in the box!” She groaned, smacking her head against the top of the steering wheel. “Ugh. Brilliant, Leslie. Brilliant.”

Pulling a sharp, probably somewhat illegal U-turn in the middle of an intersection, she started to race back to the thrift store, cursing under her breath the whole time. She wondered idly, if her night could get any more annoying. After a few minutes she pulled into the parking lot of the secondhand store again, and bolted from the car to dart in the door before the manager could finish locking up. The woman jumped in surprise, startled.

“Miss Smith?!”

“S-sorry.” She panted, shaking slightly. “I f-forgot I tossed my wallet in the box with the rest of those clothes. Can I grab it really fast, please?”

“Oh! Of-of course!” The manager answered, eager to please. “I'm so sorry about this, Miss Smith.”

“Don't apologize,” Leslie answered quickly, trotting through the double sets of doors inside, “This is my fault, not yours. Where'd you put the box?”

“It's in the back, behind the employee door.”

“Thanks so much!” She sighed with relief, rushing back towards the far end of the store, where the door in question waited. The employees all looked up, startled, as she burst in there and made a beeline for her box, but they barely had started protesting before she fished out her wallet, mumbled a hasty, red-faced apology, and darted back out.

“That was close.” She remarked. “And _now_ I can head home—“

Something grabbed her forearm and gave a sharp yank. Racks of clothes on hangers smacked her in the face before she could stop it, and her would-be scream only came out as a gasp, which was quickly muffled by a hand that covered her mouth. Two golden eyes with slitted pupils loomed at her out of the clothes, and prickles of heat shot through her skin.

“Don't. Scream.” Copperhead whispered. “Not a sound, _señorita_.”

She glared, narrowing her eyebrows, and bit down on his hand, and he drew it away with a stifled yelping hiss.

“Yeah, fat chance of that, you big dork.” She whispered back at him. “You grab me between the size tens and size twelves and gag me and you expect me _not_ to scream?”

“Ay yi yi!” He groaned, rapidly swinging his hand.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Long story.”

“How great for you. Unfortunately, I don't have time to hear it.”

“You're going to _make_ time.”

“Am I?” She said, planting her hands on her hips and raising her eyebrows. A moment later those golden eyes met her blue ones and he glared at her, leaning in close, and abruptly Leslie felt incredibly small and vulnerable.

“Yes, you are.”

She steeled herself, breathing deep and held her hands down stiffly at her sides. “Okay, fine.” She huffed. “But the manager is expecting me to walk out of that room in a second and go out that front door, and not with you, either. Got a brilliant plan for that, doll-face?”

“No. We're just going to do _this_.” He answered, seizing her by the waist before she could protest and bursting out of the clothing racks to run at top speed. Leslie just caught a glimpse of the manager's startled face before they slammed through the two sets of doors, and skidded to a quick stop in the parking lot. Copperhead removed his hand from her waist, and she realized with a shock that he was lifting her keys into the air.

“Hey!” She shrieked, going red-faced. Those had been hooked onto her belt loop! “What, did you feel me up for my wallet too, you pervert?”

“A Hummer, huh?” He said, studying the keys before tossing her a quick grin. “I'll drive.”

“No. No no no, you are _not_ driving Tony's Hummer.”

He had the keys halfway to the lock when he turned his head and regarded her skeptically.

“Who is _Tony_?” He demanded.

“My big brother.” She retorted, crossing her arms.

“Oh, okay.” He immediately relaxed, opening the car door.

“ _Okay_?” She echoed incredulously. “What the—“

“Chat in the car, okay _princesa_?” He cut her off, tossing a pointed look at the store. “I'm not keen on hanging around this place right now.”

Fuming, she complied. Really, what else could she do in this instance? And in moments they were off, heading nowhere in particular. Copperhead pulled off the headpiece of his costume and tossed it in the backseat, and utterly relaxed into the driver's seat as he drove, tail curling around the seat as he hummed softly. Leslie grew increasingly annoyed with how utterly smug he was about the whole thing, and took to staring out of her window, furious.

“You planning on giving me the silent treatment?” He prompted after a while.

“Considering it.” She snapped.

“The longer you stay quiet, the longer I'm keeping you in this car.”

She glared at him, crossing her arms. “You're going to run out of gas sooner or later, and then what, huh?”

“Maybe I'll kidnap you for ransom.” He answered, a cold smile turning up the corners of his mouth. A moment later, he dropped the smile and looked rather uncomfortable. “So...I take it you're still mad about the...ah, thing I said the last time we saw each other?”

Leslie gave a snort and looked out the window again.

“I'm taking that as a rather angry 'yes.'” He said, groaning his words slightly.

“You essentially called me flat-chested and kept stereotyping me because my parents have money.” She snapped. “You called me a surfboard. How many girls can you think of that would enjoy being told they've got no curves by any guy?”

“Fair point.” He said roughly.

“So are you going to apologize?”

“For _what_?”

“For insulting me like that!”

“...you could always take it as I was calling you skinny. That's a compliment, come on. Women like being called skinny.” He protested, but a second later, he quailed under her blue-eyed glare. “Oh alright, alright! _Lo siento_ , _lo siento_ , okay? I'm _sorry_.”

“You should be!” She snapped. “Honestly...”

“You have quite a temper on you, Miss Queen of Sheba. What, does it come from having to act like a dumb blonde all the time?” 

“Maybe. You try playing so many different roles all the time, it...it drains you.”

Abruptly he turned into a parking lot at random and put the car in park, turning it off.

“Roles?” He prompted, raising an eyebrow. “You say this like I'm clueless or—“

“The sweet, adoring, innocent daughter,” she cut him off, looking him squarely in the eye, “The kind, submissive, meek granddaughter; the well-mannered, well-bred young socialite; the attentive, charming honor roll student; the brainless, flaky, shallow rich girl. They're all acts, they're roles I have to fill in order to keep other people around me content. None of them are actually me, and it infuriates me that I cannot...be me.”

“Wow. Um...okay...” He muttered slowly, “Gettin' kinda weird here, _princesa_.”

“The last time we talked,” she said softly, raising her eyebrows in a slow way, “You mentioned all the rich kids you kind of knew growing up. Were you jealous of them?”

“Hmm. Let me think about that. I grow up always being humiliated by them, then I wind up stealing their money and art collections and gold toilet seats.” His face went deadpan and his voice turned sarcastic. “ _Nooo_ , I don't think _that_ screams of jealousy _at all_ , do you?”

“Gold toilet seats?” She repeated, making a face.

“Ehh, yeah. Long, really weird story for another night. It involved some alcohol, poker, and I think there was a talking monkey at one point. Don't ask.” Copperhead answered, not looking at her. She raised her eyebrows at him skeptically and started to shake her head in a slow, disbelieving way, but changed the subject back rather than pressing the matter.

“Well, news flash for you, mister. _I'm_ jealous that you can just stride around in a skintight costume and you act however you want to. I don't have that sort of freedom.”

“Freedo—pfft!” Copperhead instantly lost his composure and started to laugh, hard enough his breath came in wheezing gasps. “Oh yeah, the inside of a prison cell. Let me tell you something about 'freedom', sweetie! HA!”

“You _know_ what I meant!” Leslie's voice went from her indignant tone down to an embarrassed mumble as her cheeks began to burn. “And if you don't like going to prison, why do you keep doing this anyway?”

“I'm gonna ignore that question for now.” He chuckled at her, clutching his sides as he tried to contain himself. “Haven't laughed like that in a _while_ , so I owe you for it, Miss Smith. Seriously though, I can't see what you're so jealous about. I thought all of you wealthy types just stuck it to the rest of us _because_ you have money. 'Whoever has the gold makes the rules' and all that jazz, right? You can act however you want and everyone under you just has to suck it up. Are you telling me that's not how it works?”

She quailed slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“You've really seen the worst kinds of stereotypes for upper-class people, haven't you?” She said quietly, letting her shoulders sag, and when his head inclined marginally in the barest hint of a nod, she sighed. “Haven't you ever thought that maybe those stereotypes don't apply to all of us?”

He watched her for a long moment, then abruptly started the Hummer again and shot out of the parking lot, making her yelp in surprise as he roared out onto the road once more.

“So I'm guessing that butterfly tattoo of yours is a sign of a rebellious streak?” He asked, his tone a little too light and casual as he tossed a glance at her shoulder.

“Yes.” She answered, nodding and blushing as she clapped her right hand over her shoulder to block the butterfly from view. “Tony and I had gotten in a bit of a fight with our grandmother a couple of months ago, so we decided to intentionally look for a way to piss her off. So we went and got tattoos. Originally I wanted to be really scandalous and give my grandmother a heart attack, but Tony said my butterfly had to be someplace a little more modest, and that if anyone was getting a tramp stamp it was him.”

His foot was already on the brake when she said that, slowing for an intersection, and then he broke a little harder than he was probably intending. She glanced at him and found him looking at her with wide eyes, a carefully neutral set to his mouth, and an all-too interested expression.

“You were going to get a tramp stamp?” He asked. “Really?”

“I already told you, my brother wouldn't let me.” She snorted. “And it's not like he got one either, though that would have been hysterical to see.”

“Ah.” Copperhead looked back to the road, seeming slightly disappointed. “Was it still going to be that butterfly if you had gotten your way?”

“Why do you wanna know? Are you like, trying to envision me with a tramp stamp?”

“No.”

“You are _such_ a lying pervert.” She groaned, placing her hands awkwardly on her hips. “Especially with your weird issue where you keep like, freaking out about me being underage but you still hit on me and flirt with me.”

“Hey, hey, _hey_!” He snapped, voice getting sharper with each word, “You're looking for hidden intentions or whatever where there aren't any! And I thought you turned eighteen, because you said—“

“Two weeks, doll-face. My birthday still hasn't hit quite yet, but it's close.” She replied smugly.

“Whatever.” He huffed. “Besides, you're not even my type.”

“Oh, you have a type?” She laughed. “Yeah, and I bet your type is pretty much any woman loose enough or drunk enough she'll have you.”

“You know, I could kill you for that remark.”

A chill ran through Leslie at that. There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. However, she wasn't about to just cower in a corner to him. After all, he had grabbed her between racks of horribly abused secondhand women's pants and stolen Tony's car keys and was driving around in her older brother's Hummer, not to mention thinking he could dictate to her how things were going to go. So she answered as sweetly as possible.

“Yes, you probably could.”

“I _should_ kill you for that remark.”

“But sweetie-pie,” she crooned, leaning over as they came to a stop at a smaller street, seizing him by the sides of his face, “You couldn't kill such a cute, innocent little princess like me, would you? Not when I can be ransomed off or kept around for your clearly devious and impure intentions.”

“First,” he hissed, grabbing her wrists and removing her hands from his face, “You are the farthest thing from innocent. Second, you're deluded; I'm not interested in skinny jailbait. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if _you've_ got a thing for me. You keep grabbing me by the tail or the face and you've hugged me, and you won't get off this weird idea I have sexual thoughts about you.”

“ _I_ never said sexual thoughts, but you just did.”

“Why you little—!!”

“And uh, doll-face? This is a four-way stop. The roads are empty. You can go now.”

He exhaled through his nose in a way that forcibly reminded her of a bull, but drove anyway, seething with poorly-concealed irritation. Silence fell between them for a few minutes, save for Leslie tapping her foot against the floor of the Hummer. After a while, she couldn't stand it any more, and decided to try getting him talking again.

“So...uh...Luiz, right?”

He quickly looked at her, blinking in amazement at her use of his first name, then looked away with a brisk nod as he kept driving. “Yes?” He grumbled.

“You told me you were going to like, explain what you were doing in Graceheart's and what the deal is with you grabbing me and using my brother's Hummer. And don't even _try_ getting out of telling me. I'm totally holding you to this.”

“Ah yeah, that.” He mumbled, pulling down a deserted suburban road. “Yeah, uh...I broke out of prison. Long story short, I'm trying to mostly lay low and not stay in one spot right now and hope that the cops don't find me. I ran into the thrift shop because it seemed like it wasn't busy or anything, and it was close to closing anyway, so I thought I'd hide and there and not get found. And then you showed up. And I just kind of...reacted on instinct.”

“So wait, you had a plan and then you just decided to blow it off the second you saw me walking by?” She said, raising an eyebrow, a smile playing about her lips.

“Ye—NO. Don't go getting any ideas. I did not do it because of you. Not entirely.”

“That's not what I'm hearing.”

“Well, you better stop hearing whatever you're hearing. Because it's wrong. Seriously, I think you lie to yourself as often as you lie to me.”

“I do _not_ lie to you!”

“You tricked me. Twice.”

“Um, _once_. That thing with Batman was not something I planned.”

“Uh-huh, sure, go on. Lie through your teeth, _princesa_.”

“You know, for a guy who makes a living stealing things, I find it kind of odd that you've got some serious issue with people lying to you.” Leslie remarked.

“I'm still human!” Copperhead protested, only to wince a second later and correct himself. “Metahuman, technically. I'm a metahuman. But that doesn't change the point! I don't like being lied to any more than the next guy.”

“I think that like, you _think_ I lie to you, when you need a bit of a reality check, because I don't.”

“Oh yeah? How about you prove that, Miss Smith?”

“Seriously, that level of formality is killing me, honey. Just call me Leslie, it's totes fine. And fine then, I'll prove it. I've got a lavender baby grand piano in my bedroom. Been taking piano lessons since I was five.”

“ _Sure_ you have a baby grand in your room.” He snorted, receiving a glare from her.

“Turn left up at this fork in the road.” She ordered him sternly. He glared back at her for a second, but complied, turning left. Calmly, Leslie continued to direct him, telling him which streets to turn onto, until they gradually left the suburbs and passed through the business sections of Gotham, drawing closer to the outskirts of the city into the well-kept countryside estates.

“So, where are we going?” Copperhead finally asked.

“To my parents' manor, silly.” Leslie said with a brilliant smile and a shrug. “Duh.”

“Oh, the family manor.” He said lightly. “You do realize that I steal for a living.”

“Pretty sure I said that earlier, doll-face.”

“Aaannnd you're just inviting me right into your home, rich girl.”

“I know.”

“Okay, just checking.”

“You think that you're gonna steal something just to prove a point to me and that I'm not going to notice because I'll fall for your innocent tone.”

“Not at all.” He said quickly. “Wouldn't even entertain the thought.”

“ _Now_ who's a liar?”

He didn't respond but simply followed her directions as she indicated which estate he had to drive to, and as they pulled up a curving driveway on a hill, she tapped a small, hand-held device attached to the driver's-side visor, opening the gates.

“Follow the driveway back behind the house. That's where the parking garage is. I can show you where to park the Hummer, then I'm going to head inside.”

“And?” He prompted impatiently. “What about me?”

“I'll open the window to my room so you can climb up.”

“Really?” He said skeptically, mixed emotions behind his expression.

“You could always follow me in and meet my brothers.”

“I'll climb in through the window.”

*

_What am I even doing here?_ He thought, carefully scaling the outside wall of the manor, keeping an eye out for an open window in one of the upper floors. He had somehow let Leslie Smith talk him into something again, and this time he'd barely tried to argue. Of course, why would he pass up the opportunity to rob her filthy-stinking-rich family? Stupid girl was dumb enough to invite him and seriously think he wasn't going to steal something.

But still, he had just let her talk him into this, and he had even had the upper hand this time! He had basically taken her hostage and she _still_ had walked all over him! It was beginning to irritate him, and a tiny part of him wouldn't have minded showing her exactly how dangerous he could be. She needed to start taking him seriously, or he would see to it that she came to regret it in the future.

And yet here he was, sneaking into her mansion to see some piano.

Assuming she wasn't lying about the piano, of course. This could be another trap.

Finally he spotted a window toward the back of the manor, facing the acres of forested land behind the place, shutters thrown wide open and cranberry-red curtains rustling in the faint night air. He tensed for a moment, still wary, but rapidly climbed the wall up to the window pane. Hauling himself over the pane, he hopped inside what would probably pass as a master bedroom in a normal middle-class home. Unsurprisingly, the room itself was a faint pink in color, with a four-poster canopy bed, a narrow door to what he could only assume was a walk-in closet, a vanity on the opposite side of the bed, and in the far corner of the room, next to a tiny bookcase coated in dust, there stood a bright lavender baby grand piano.

“Oh.” He murmured, surprised, and silently crossed the room to get a better look at the piano, idly wondering where Leslie was at. He gave the instrument a scrutinizing glare, trying to see if he could find some way that it either wasn't a baby grand or wasn't lavender. He found nothing. Leslie hadn't been lying about this, then. Curious, he lifted the cover to expose the keys, which gleamed in the light and had a well-polished appearance. He glanced around the room, not seeing anyone around, and on a childish impulse, swept his hands from one end of the keys to the other, listening as the piano let out a climbing chime of sound.

“You know, I think everyone kinda does that the first time they get near a piano.”

He jumped, arching his spine as he turned to find Leslie walking into the room.

“Don't do that!” He hissed, jumping back from the piano.

“It's _my_ room, cupcake.” She planted her hands on her hips and gave him an exasperated sigh.

“What were you doing, anyway?”

“Making sure that Steve and Tony weren't going to come down the hall and get all Mystery Inc. on us. What did you _think_ I was doing?”

“You could have been doing anything! I don't know, setting a trap or something!”

She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a long-suffering sigh.

“Are you _still_ convinced I'm going to call the Justice League on you? Come _on_ , doll-face! You know I'm not lying. Didn't I prove that just now? I have a lavender baby grand piano; isn't that proof I'm telling you the truth?” She asked, a pleading note in her voice. He crossed his arms, feeling his face burn a little. Okay, so she'd been telling the truth about the damn piano but that wasn't proof she wasn't trying to plan any other funny business. He opened his mouth to say so—

“YO, SQUIRT!” Came a roar from out in the hall, accompanied by a thundering knock on the door that startled both of them. She turned to the door, fuming, and shouted back.

“I'm RIGHT HERE, Steve!”

“The door's locked.”

“Girls need privacy.”

“Girls need privacy, my ass! I heard voices. As in like, plural.”

Leslie promptly seated herself at the piano bench, crossing her legs and folding her arms. “Wow, Steve! Who'd have thought you passed basic English classes?” She snapped. Luiz looked at her, surprised. He didn't expect so much venom from her, not toward one of her own family. Vaguely, he recalled their conversation from a couple of nights ago, and remembered that she mentioned that she had to put on an act for everyone, especially her family.

“You have a guy in there with you, squirt?” Steve's voice demanded.

“None of your business if I do.”

“Why do you have a _guy_ in your room?”

“Because I do.”

“What are you even _doing_?”

“I dunno, we're gonna like, make out or something. You know, like normal girls my age do, because they're shallow and don't care about dental hygiene.” She replied in a dumb blonde voice, and Luiz felt his face heat up even more, his heart speeding up a little more.

“Oh, whatever twerp.” Steve finally snorted, and they heard his footfalls echo as he stomped off. Leslie let out a sigh, her shoulders relaxing, then she turned to face him.

“What was _that_?” Luiz asked, arching an eyebrow, and her cheeks turned bright pink.

“Me getting rid of my oldest brother. Got a problem with it?”

“Interesting method. Do you normally not make out with guys in your room?”

“Ugh. _No_.” She said, disgusted. “People that put nothing into a relationship but physicality at my age are _idiots_. Plus, I don't give a crap if it's 'in' to only care about hitting bases in teen relationships. I'd rather do that with a guy I've been with for a while and care about who I know cares about me. People say real love doesn't exist or is overrated, and I'm like thank you, but _NO_. That's what I'm gonna go for.”

“Yeah, um...just so you know, you confuse the crap out of me, Leslie.” He declared, startled when she turned slowly and smiled, her cheeks going a darker shade of pink. “Wh-what?”

“Thanks.” She said, beaming and rolling her shoulders.

“For what?”

“That's the first time you've said my name.”

“So?” He asked. “It's not like it's a big deal or whatever.”

She only beamed even more at him, and his heart gave another quick little run.

_Damn, she shouldn't be this adorable._

Abruptly there came another knock at the door.

“Go _away_ , Steven!” Leslie groaned, glaring furiously at the door. There was a long pause, and then a different voice spoke from the other side.

“Les,” came the wary voice, “What's going on?”

“Nothing, Tony.”

“Les, come on. I know that's not the case. Do you really have a guy in there?”

Immediately Leslie clammed up, chewing her lower lip and going white as a sheet.

“Kid,” Tony's voice took on a warning tone, “Look, you can either open the door and explain everything to me, or I'm going to charge into your door and knock it down. I'm giving you half a minute to decide.”

Luiz looked at her, feeling a chill at her stricken expression.

“Can he really knock the door down?” He asked in a low voice, feeling his stomach vanish when she nodded. “That does nothing for my nerves. I'm gonna go jump out the window now.”

“No, wait!” Leslie squealed, grabbing him by the tail and simultaneously pulling on him while running to her door and unlocking it.

“Damn it, rich girl.” Luiz hissed as the door slowly opened and pulled inward.

A tall, muscular tan redheaded guy in his early twenties—probably a year or two younger than Copperhead himself—shouldering a pitch-black hockey stick, was staring at them with a cold scowl.

“Leslie,” He said in an angry voice, gaze locking onto Luiz, “What is going on here?”

“Aww, _mierda_.” Luiz muttered.


	4. Persistent Bad Luck

It did not take a genius to figure out the huge athlete rich guy was angry to find a Metahuman criminal mercenary in a room with his younger sister.  The way Anthony’s nostrils flared as he inhaled and exhaled slowly made him look like a huge, redheaded bull working up the energy to charge at something and gore it with his horns.  Copperhead could only thank his lucky stars the guy _wasn’t_ a human bull, and took a few steps back, eager to keep a healthy amount of distance between them.  Leslie thankfully, seemed to catch on immediately, and stood between him and her brother, trying to keep them arms’ length apart.

“Anthony, Anthony, calm down.” She said quickly, trying to motion for him to relax.  “It’s okay, he’s a friend.”

“That’s assuming a bit, there.” Copperhead remarked, folding his arms.  He had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well at all, and started to entertain what would happen if he tossed _this_ guy out the window instead.

“I agree,” Anthony fumed, “What is he doing in here, Leslie?  Doesn’t take a lot to tell he’s trouble.  And tell me the truth.”

“He didn’t think that I was honest with him, so I decided he had to see my piano.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, um…” Copperhead said, hissing slightly as he winced, gesticulating with his hands awkwardly, “We’ve, uh…we’ve met before.  Twice.  Your sister set the Justice League on me.”

“Only once.” She insisted, tossing him a hurt look.  “I keep telling you, the second time was _not_ my fault.  I don’t even know how to get ahold of Batman.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Anthony waved his hands, trying to get both of them to quiet down for a moment.  “Hold on!  Sis, you set the Justice League on this guy?”

“Yes.” Copperhead answered.

“No,” Leslie said at the same time, “I only called the Daily Planet, asked for Lois Lane, and had her get in touch with Superman to help take care of things.  That was all.  And the thing with Batman was not my fault.  He just showed up at Eric Carroway’s party.”

“The Carroways’ party?” Anthony echoed, his eyes going huge, before he turned and glared at the thief.  “How many times have you freaking run into my sister, anyway?”

“If you’re counting tonight, this makes three.”

Anthony turned again, mixed emotions warring in his face as he stared openly at his younger sister.

“And why haven’t you told anyone about this, Les?” He asked.  “You should have said something to someone!  Mom, or Dad, or—“

“Tony, you know that if I said anything to Mom and Dad, they would flip and I’d never be let out of this dingy old house again.”

“You could have at least told me!”

“I tried to earlier, and I told you that I would be able to tell you the full story when I was ready.  Remember that?”

“Yes, but you said—“ he stopped abruptly, looking wildly between his sister and Copperhead, comprehension dawning on his face, and suddenly his expression became serious.  “Oh.  Ohhh…YOU!   _You’re_ the _guy_.”

Copperhead furrowed his brows, quite lost by that point.  “Uh…” He managed to get out, before Anthony was abruptly waggling an accusing index finger in his face.

“You, it’s you, I’m sure of it!  You’re the guy!”

The snake-suit thief turned to the petite young woman beside him, gesturing kind of helplessly.  “Uh.  Did I miss something here?  Is there something I wasn’t aware of?” He asked.  To his utter surprise, Leslie turned a bright red, and determinedly looked away, refusing to make eye contact with him, folding her arms before her.

“Yes, there was.” She answered.  “Not that it’s anything you need to worry about.”

“I’m starting to think it is.”

“It isn’t,” Anthony jumped in before his younger sister could say anything, brandishing his hockey stick like he was holding a katana, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave.  Right now.”

He scowled back at the redhead, crossing his own arms, and his tail lashed back and forth behind him.  “I don’t think you’re quite aware who you’re threatening, _amigo_.” He replied.  “Laugh all you want when I’m not around, but don’t take me lightly.  A neck isn’t that hard to snap.”

“Is that a threat?” Anthony growled.

“Would both of you just chill a second?!” Leslie cried, stepping between them both again.  “Stop it, already!  So not cool!  You, don’t threaten my brother, and you Tony, quit messing with my friend!  Can’t you just both let it go, at least for my sake?”

“I told you, calling us friends is assuming a bit much, _chica_.”

“I agree, Leslie, it’s assuming way too much.  Besides, you think I’m just going to let it go that you have some super-criminal in your room?  And for what, to look at a piano?” Anthony shot back, exasperated.  “He’s _dangerous_.”

“Glad to hear _somebody’s_ going to acknowledge that.” Copperhead muttered.  “And really, I’m ready to leave at any point in time, you know.”

“You’re not going to rob us.” Anthony said bluntly, clearly unable to believe this.

“Not really; you’re all _loco_ enough I don’t think I wanna bother.”

“So you’re just going to leave?” Leslie asked, spinning around to stare at him, her eyes huge and full of hurt.  He stepped back warily, guilt washing over him.  It was irritating, feeling like he was being guilt-tripped, and he tried to shake it off.

“Yeah,” he answered, “And would you knock it off with the Bambi eyes?  Your brother wants me gone anyway.  Besides, if I hang around too long, the next thing I know, Green Lantern or somebody’s gonna show up and cuff me.”

“For the last time, you big doof, I did not call anyone!” Leslie protested, trotting after him as he made for the window.  He hopped onto the sill and glanced back over his shoulder at her, golden eyes flashing.

“I didn’t say you did…you’re just _mala suerte_ , girl.” He answered coolly.  “Bad luck.”

His tail gave a sharp snap and he leapt from the window, vanishing from sight.  Leslie could only stare, confused and stung by the accusation, wondering if she would see him again.

*****

Ink wasn’t given to stressing about things around Jonathan’s laboratory.  Generally speaking, the Scarecrow kept things in working order, and what he couldn’t always do on his own, he had Twitch around for assistance.  There was very little for Ink to worry about, and at any rate, her focus had be on taking care of herself and her kitten as a priority as well.

At least, that was what she had been told several times when she had tried to insist that she was needed to stay and help.

In her heart, Ink knew it to be true.  She had to take care of herself and Bishop.

She still felt annoyed however, at the notion that she had been indirectly _dismissed_.

“Well,” she said to herself as she shopped, trying to find some groceries for her apartment, “Jonny will know that I’m needed when he finds out who was keeping his laundry and Twitch’s separate.”

She meandered down an aisle to look at sketchbooks, mostly to window-shop that particular aisle more than anything.  She _really_ wanted a new sketchbook, and there were some pretty nice ones on the shelves, but she had to stick to her budget.  Even with a new job at the Iceberg Lounge as a bouncer, she had to make sure that she planned out her budget and purchases, and that meant she wasn’t able to indulge herself and just impulse-shop as often as she would have liked.

_But I don’t need to;_ she told herself firmly, _I can just be happy looking._

She wasn’t there very long when she realized that someone else had stepped into the aisle near her.  Instinctively, she pulled her scarf and hood around her tighter.  She didn’t like the thought that her appearance would scare somebody, and she hoped that the other shopper didn’t look at her too closely.  Still, as human curiosity would have it, Ink turned and looked at the other person, as people are apt to do.

The other shopper was a young woman a handful of years younger than her, with hair that was a bright, white-blonde, big blue eyes, and expensive-looking clothes.  Ink blinked a couple of times, and then went back to looking at the sketchbooks.

“Excuse me.”

She glanced up and saw the younger girl staring at her, holding up two different sets of stationary in either hand.

“Which one do you like better?” She asked.  “The scented carnation pink or the scented lilac purple?”

For a moment Ink was surprised that she was being asked such a question, but then she smiled behind the scarf and shrugged.

“They both sound nice!” She answered happily, and the girl beamed at her.

“Thank you!” She said cheerfully, “Then I’ll buy both!”

“You’re welcome,” Ink replied, and then, if only because she so rarely got an opportunity to talk to other people—strangers, that was—casually in public, she asked, “Whatcha buying ‘em for?”

The girl sidled over closer to her, glancing around as though they might be overheard, and dropped her voice down to a low whisper.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m friends with a super-villain.”

Ink turned and stared at her for a moment.

“I know, I know it sounds crazy,” the girl went on, talking about this like it was hardly crazy at all, or that it wasn’t peculiar to tell something like that to a complete stranger, “Especially ‘cause like, heh, I just met him a couple of weeks ago and everything and he’s a total jerk, but seriously, the poor guy doesn’t have a lot in the way of well, anything really.  A fashion sense among them of course, I mean, he runs around in an orange snake suit.  Can’t really say that that inspires confidence, can you?  Know what I mean?”

She blinked at the girl, rather at a loss for words, but just nodded in consent.  Really, what else could she do or say to that?

“So like, anyway,” the girl went on, tucking the sets of stationary in the crook of one arm while she waved the other one about, her long, super-fancy, fake nails shimmering like a first grader’s glitter-encrusted art project, “He got caught and wound up in prison…again.  And I’m not really sure how to help him or anything, but I thought about it, and like, I’m pretty sure people write to their family or friends when they’re in prison.  Like, they actually write letters.  I thought that was something that people totally forgot to do, you know, because we’ve got e-mail and texting and IM’ing and everything.  It’s like, some dying art form or something, like making stained glass windows, so I thought, heck, I’m going to learn how to do this.  It’s the _least_ I can do for the poor guy.”

“Even if he’s a jerk to you?” Ink asked, genuinely impressed by the younger girl’s idea.

“Oh, of course!” She answered brightly, her eyes shining as she turned and smiled at her, and some of the valley girl impression that Ink had gotten from her voice appeared to vanish altogether.  “Sometimes you just have to keep trying, you know?  I get that Copperhead’s a jerk and he thinks I’m bad luck or something, but he’s not all that bad.  Maybe all he really needs is just somebody to be nice to him.  Besides, it’s just how guys are; they’re not all just going to admit they like having girls around to be sweet on them.”

Ink smiled.  This girl’s positive attitude was uplifting, at the very least, and she relaxed a little.  She had a feeling that perhaps maybe she wouldn’t have to worry much about Jonathan as it was, as well.

Abruptly the girl extended a hand, her smile growing warm.

“My name is Leslie.  Leslie Smith,” she announced, “Nice to meet you!”

*****

Prison.  He should have known the second he got back out there in the open and allowed himself to be seen, he would get caught once more and sent right back.  But of course, he hadn’t thought about that.

He blamed Leslie Smith.  The girl really _was_ bad luck.  Her and her Bambi eyes.

She was the reason he had gotten into this mess…and yet, the thought of her and her big, hurt doe eyes staring at him kept him from hating her for it.  It made no sense, but that was just how it seemed to be.  Really, he knew she hadn’t been responsible for Batman finding him, or getting caught again; he just liked having someone to blame that on other than admitting it was his own fault.  To make matters even more confusing, her questioning his continual return to crime and getting caught all the time had _him_ questioning it.

Why _did_ he keep doing this?  What was the point of it all?  He always ended up with his tail in a cage again, his everything in pain from the beatings he got, and never once was there a decent pay-off.  He always kept telling himself the next time would be different, the next time would be his lucky break, yet it never happened.

“I can hear her voice already,” He muttered to himself, launching into a slightly unflattering imitation of Leslie, “‘Well like, duh, Luiz, like, I could have like, told you that!’”

He wanted to cackle at his mocking, but found he actually somewhat missed Leslie’s ability to talk.  It certainly would have kept him better company in this place.  He had been moved to a different penitentiary in Gotham this time, one that cracked down hard on its inmates, regardless of whether they were human, Metahuman, or otherwise.  Blackgate, it was called, and he figured the name was rather apropos, all things considered.

A dismissal buzzer sounded and the guards patrolled the halls as the cell doors opened.

“Yard time, you deadbeats!” One of less-pleasant guards barked.  “Fall in!”

They did, of course, with a great deal of mutinous mutterings, but Luiz kept silent.  He didn’t feel too keen on antagonizing the guards when he had been separated from his suit and was thus vulnerable.  Still though…the thought of being able to knock them senseless was helping him to keep a positive outlook on the matter, and he was unable to hold back a bit of a smirk as he was led through the halls toward their destination.

“What you smiling about, snake-boy?” Someone spat.  He didn’t bother looking around; at the moment, he hardly cared who had spoken to him.  They would get what was coming to them soon enough, and if he was lucky, he would get to watch and laugh the entire time.

“Oh, nothing.” He answered mildly, affecting cheery indifference.  At least he was going to get a bit of fresh air for a while.

The yard was essentially a huge complex with a thirty-foot stone wall surrounding it, and dozens of armed guards surveying and overseeing the activities of all inmates that were brought out.  They were either set to work with small, menial tasks to keep them calm, or they were allowed to exercise or simply stand around and relax for a few moments.  It was a bit depressing however, to think that this was the closest any of them could come to freedom for a while.

Luiz moved to a spot by the wall and leaned back, crossing his arms and looking away from everyone else in the yard.  He preferred to be left alone, which wasn’t hard to accomplish.  Most of the other inmates and the guards gave him a healthy distance amid mutterings against Metahumans, and more than once he had heard some of them suggest that he ought to be moved to Arkham or transferred to Belle Reve.

_Idiots,_ he thought grumpily, _I doubt they’d be this mouthy if I were in my suit._

Immediately, Leslie came to mind again.  Suit or no suit, he doubted he could scare her into shutting up for a second.  Of course, she didn’t seem to have anything against Metahumans, and she was sweet enough to him, so that was another matter altogether.

That thought brought back another twinge of guilt.  He had encountered her three times now, and each time, he had left practically spewing venom at the girl.  How she still didn’t hate him on sight and just continued to be overly-friendly was beyond him.  He wasn’t used to anyone valuing him as a person…and he wasn’t sure what the best way to handle it would be.

_If I run into her again when I get out of here…I should apologize to her._

Chances were likely he wouldn’t, but he felt it was only fair that he should attempt to.

“HOI!!” A guard shouted, entering the yard complex through a door, waving something in his hand about in the air.  “WHICH ONE O’ YOU MUGS IS COPPERHEAD?”

He glanced up, immediately alert.  What the heck had he done _now?_  Slowly, he raised his hand into the air.

“Yeah…?” He called out tentatively.  The guard spotted him, lowered his hand, and made a sharp gesture for him to come closer.  He slowly started over, feeling ready to bolt at the first sign of things getting worse than they already were.  And considering all eyes in the yard were abruptly on him, it was already bad.

“You’ve got mail, scaly,” the guard said loud enough that probably half of everyone present could hear, “Guess _somebody_ out there cares that you’re in here.”

“I have mail?” He echoed, stunned, slowing down.

“Yeah,” the guard said, a smirk just visible below his affected neutral expression, “You’ve got mail alright.  And it’s _pink_.”

He stopped mid-step, brakes screeching in his mind.  “Pink?” He said, feeling mildly disturbed.  No way.  There was _no_ way…

“Yep,” the guard reaffirmed, not even trying to hide his amused smile now, “And it smells like bubblegum and strawberries.”

Snickers started up around the yard, and heat rushed to his face.

“Hey, who’s it from, snake man?” Someone yelled in a nasty voice, “Your mother?”

“No, man, no!” Another inmate guffawed, doubling over in laughter.  “Bubblegum and strawberry-scented means it’s his sister!”

“Or his _boyfriend_!” A third chimed in, and that did it.  Practically everyone was falling over laughing.  The muscles in his back tensed in anger as he glanced around, taking note of everyone that had started mocking the situation.  Forcing his expression to remain calm, he glanced back at the guard, working his jaw.

“Who’s it from?” He asked in a carefully-controlled voice.

“Says here it’s from a Leslie Smith.” The guard answered civilly enough as he glanced at the envelope.  Luiz’s tail gave a small lash as he nodded in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, would you mind holding onto it for me for a while, _ese_?” he asked, “I’m about to lose some of my privileges.”

“Wait, you’re what?” The guard asked dumbly.

“Hey, guys!  Fang-face’s boyfriend is named Leslie!” Somebody howled, and they all began to dissolve into laughter again.

“ _Mala suerte_.  Yeah, I’m going to be losing those privileges for a while.” Luiz muttered before turning and diving with a snarl at the offending inmates.


	5. Friendship Is Insane

It was close to a month before Luiz had his privileges returned after the fight. It was a month before he could read the original letters Leslie had sent to him, and in that time, she had written him several more letters. He didn’t discover this of course, until the morning when a guard entered his cell and upended an entire box of envelopes on his cot. He blinked, and his jaw dropped slightly at the sight of the letters.

“Someone out there likes you a lot, Captain Reptile.” The guard snorted.

“It’s Copperhead.” He shot back.

“Whatever, Fang-Face.”

“ _Copperhead_ ,” he repeated irritably, seizing one of the envelopes and waving it in the guard’s face, “It even says so on the envelope!”

“This chick your girlfriend or something?” The man asked, deliberately ignoring him and picking up one of the letters, eyeing the pink envelope with mild confusion. “She’s written to you almost every single freaking day.”

He felt his cheeks flush slightly, but he made certain to look the guard in the eye.

“No,” he muttered, “She just won’t leave me alone.”

“Uh-huh.” came the unconvinced reply as the guard left his cell, slamming the door shut behind him. Luiz glared daggers at him as he walked away, but immediately started to rummage through the envelopes and find the original ones he had seen a month ago. It took a while to try and organize them all—he decided to try initially organizing by color, then came to the conclusion that was a stupid and useless effort—and finally he had to resort to looking for a date on the envelopes and letters to figure out which came first. With a bit of effort, he finally managed to find the original letter, and was hardly surprised to discover it had already been opened. Of course these idiots were going to read his mail. And of course they had all probably laughed themselves sick over it; with the sort of things Leslie was bound to write to him, small wonder nobody at Blackgate was taking him seriously.

Finally, he opened the first letter and unfolded it to begin reading.

What he beheld before him was a horrendous first-of-many horror, with giant, looping letters, overly girlish doodles in the paper’s margin, and enclosed in the folds of the letter, what looked like a snapshot of Leslie with some girl he didn’t recognize. And was that a dusting of glitter on the paper? Copperhead covered his mouth as he tried to hold in a gag. If all of her letters were like this, he was never going to hear the end of it. With the sort of resolution he might have in front of a firing squad, he quickly tore open the other letters to see if they all were the exact same way. Mercifully however, the newest of all the letters were simply written on loose-leaf, college-ruled paper, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked away from the papers and turned instead to the various photos enclosed. Some of them were Leslie with one blonde girl who looked like one of her high society friends, but many of them were of Leslie with a different blonde girl over and over, and this particular stranger didn’t seem human. It looked like some kind of black blood was oozing out of her eye in each picture, and it gave him a momentary shudder. Who in the world was this?

“ _¡Madre de dios!_ ” He hissed under his breath, pushing the photo away with a shudder. What was Leslie trying to do, give him nightmares? He shuddered again, tail going rigid for a moment before he calmed down and picked up one of the letters to start reading it.

If a socially awkward young man worrying about picking up a pretty girl from his class for a date ever had the misfortune to go into the Renée Salon to get his hair done, and wound up listening to Nanette describing the details of her daily life the whole while, the encounter would probably come decently close to what Luiz was experiencing, reading Leslie’s letters to him. Luiz managed to get through roughly two and a half of them before he decided that his brain wouldn’t survive much more one-sided correspondence like Leslie thought he was her Facebook wall or something. Assuming she had a Facebook of course. …who was he kidding, she totally had Facebook, he was sure of it.

He finally threw the letters into the air and groaned in frustration. Why the heck did Leslie think he would care what she was up to, or that he’d be able to even write back to her to answer any of her letters and questions? He doubted that he would just be allowed to write back to her, not after he had just so soon gotten his privileges returned after that fight. No, he wasn’t even going to try, he was just going to ignore it and just put it out of his mi—

“Hey!” He walked up to the cell door, grabbing the bars and trying to catch a glimpse of one of the guards. “Hey! Hey! _Hey!!_ ”

“You got a problem, furry?” One of them toward the end of the hall shouted.

“I’m going to ignore that remark,” he muttered, before a wicked smile broke onto his face, “Yeah. I need to know if I’m allowed to write a letter to somebody.”

*****

Crystal Lamont had what almost every girl her age could ask for, and then some. Her parents were rich, so she was always at high-society functions, could afford pretty much anything she wanted, and she attended a private school where she was able to focus almost exclusively on musical education. Mr. Lamont considered it to be ridiculous, but Mrs. Lamont was of the opinion that specialized education was well worth the tuition, and so she went anyway. Crystal also had some of the silkiest, most golden-blonde hair seen on a girl her age, and she was incredibly vain about it; she also had braces, which she loathed endlessly, but knew in time the dratted things would make her more beautiful, so her vanity caused her to keep them.

There was, however, one thing Crystal didn’t really have much of at all, and that was friends her own age. Or any friends, really, when one pared down the issue. Nobody at her school much cared for her. The other music students never really spoke to her outside of shared classes, and everyone else there considered her a joke, a music-obsessed nerd to pick on. Kids that attended public schools in Gotham of course, wanted nothing to do with “some snotty rich brat,” and no matter where she went, it seemed she was simply doomed to be isolated by others.

She did have one friend, however. Just the one. But sometimes Crystal had to admit that Leslie Smith was…peculiar. A little bizarre, to put it simply, especially given the older girl’s fascination with almost everything proletarian. And at that moment, life hadn’t ever been quite so topsy-turvy weird for the fourteen-year-old as it was getting.

“E-excuse me, miss,” she squeaked, waving down the server walking near their table, “Bu-but…I think I’m missing some forks.”

The woman turned to Leslie and had the gall to make a face.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Leslie said quickly, waving the woman off, before turning her dark blue eyes to Crystal and giving her a slightly pitying look, “You really _haven’t_ been to a restaurant like this before, have you?”

Crystal felt her cheeks burn as she looked down at plate of food before her, which looked as alien as the establishment they were sitting in, and her eyes darted to the one fork that had been handed to her, wrapped in a paper-y thing.

“I’m used to eating with three forks.” She mumbled softly. “And I’m used to potatoes being…well, rounder. Not sticks. A-and I have never seen a sandwich like _this_.”

“Aww, sweetie, it’s okay.” Leslie gave her a bit of a pitying smile, and her spirits lifted, just a little. “Look, you just have to get used to it, it’s no big deal. This is how pretty much everyone else in Gotham eats. It’s finger food.”

Her jaw dropped. “I have to _touch_ it? With my _hands_?”

The older girl shrugged, tucking some of her white-blonde hair back behind an ear. “You don’t _have_ to use your hands…but it just looks and feels more natural around people if you do.”

“You know,” a voice cut into their conversation, male with a rolling Hispanic accent, “I completely walked in on this at the wrong moment, and I’m not sure I want to know what you’re talking about now.”

She looked up and her immediate thought was _this_ was the exact reason her family never ate at plebeian restaurants; some shady-looking man had approached their booth, garbed in a floor-length trenchcoat, overlarge sunglasses, and a gray fedora. As if he didn’t look suspicious enough, he was eyeing Leslie in a familiar way that gave Crystal the uneasy feeling he had met her before. Leslie turned and stared at him, her jaw dropping, and for a second, the younger girl felt her friend was just as shocked and appalled as she was.

“ _Copper_?!” Leslie gasped, before quickly darting looks around the place and then lowering her voice, “What are you _doing_ here??”

“Staying inconspicuous.”

“Oh yes, the fedora and trenchcoat with glasses doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb at _all_. Couldn’t you have at least tried to get a hat that matched the color of your coat? I know you’re not good at color coordination but—“

“Seriously? I escaped from Blackgate and you’re nagging me about my disguise?”

Crystal’s mouth went dryer than it already was and her palms went clammy as she tried to process what she had just heard. Blackgate? Blackgate Penitentiary? This man had escaped from Blackgate and now he was just walking up and talking to Leslie? And Les _knew_ him??

“Of course I am. Anyone who decides to even talk to me is going to get their wardrobe critiqued. A good friend points out the flaws and helps you fix them; that’s what makes me so nice. Now would you quit hovering? Just sit down if you’re going to be social!”

“Sit down, she says.” Came the soft snort, but he flopped into the booth seat next to Leslie and made a hissing noise of irritation.

Crystal’s spine tingled with growing apprehension, and she looked to her friend.

“L-l-l…Leslie? This—this-this—guy, he—“

“Oh! Right, sorry honey, this is Copperhead.”

She turned and looked at the man, whose mouth turned down in a slight frown.

“Copper…head?” Crystal squeaked, and he lowered his sunglasses and bared his teeth.

Her heart pounded. His eyes were bright yellow-gold with slits for pupils, and where he should have had normal canine teeth like anyone else, there were sharp, curved fangs. She looked wildly at Leslie for explanation, and to her vast horror, Leslie finished the introductions.

“Copper, this is my friend, Crystal Lamont.”

He furrowed a black eyebrow.

“Lamont?” He echoed. “Why’s that name sound familiar?”

“L-l-l…Leslie, this guy is a-a-a—“

“Super-criminal?” the older girl suggested helpfully.

“Mercenary assassin.” He corrected under his breath. “Assassin and jewel-thief.”

Crystal spluttered, nearly ready to faint. “And you’re—you—why—?!”

“So why does her name sound familiar?” Copperhead asked, turning to Leslie, before kicking the toe of Crystal’s shoes. “Where the heck did you even get her?”

“You know who Trevor Lamont is?”

“The vampire-slayer?”

“No!” Leslie groaned, swatting him on the arm. “Not Belmont! _La-mont!_ ”

“Leslie!” Crystal wailed, “Don’t tell him!”

“Wait,” his eyes slowly lit up and then locked onto her, making her squirm worse than before, “Trevor Lamont…Gotham’s district attorney? This is the D.A.’s kid?”

Panic set in. Clearly Leslie didn’t realize the danger they were both in, and now that this criminal knew who she was, he was certainly going to somehow exploit the knowledge in some evil way! She scrambled to get out of the booth, to get to her feet, and started running—

Only to trip over an outstretched foot and crash to the floor.

“No, seriously,” Copperhead chuckled, exposing his teeth in a wide grin, “Where did you get her? She’s hilarious.”

“Copper!” Leslie scolded him in a low voice, smacking him on the arm. “Be nice!”

Slowly, Crystal started sobbing as other diners looked around at her.

This was the worst girls’ day out ever.

*****

“Seriously, you should apologize!” Leslie hissed at him as the three drove along in her brother’s Hummer.

“What for?” Copperhead shot back, crossing his arms. “You don’t know that she wasn’t going to immediately go running to Daddy and cry about meeting some super-criminal.”

There was a loud sniffle from the backseat; Crystal was quite cried out for the moment, and she had stopped sobbing about how horrible things were, but it was clear she was still upset and somewhat off in her own little world. Leslie shot him a glare.

“I think I know her a little better than _you_ do.” She retorted. “And even if she did tell someone, it wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t broken out of prison in the first place!”

“I hate that you have a point.” He declared in a light voice.

“Sure, doll-face,” she snorted, “You sound _so_ aggrieved right now.”

“Oh? What gave me away?” He asked sweetly.

“I wanna go home now.” Crystal sniffled. The two of them glanced into the backseat, and Leslie shot Copperhead another glare.

“Don’t you even try to say she can’t leave,” she said threateningly, “You’re bothering her enough already.”

He raised his brows at her, his mouth going thin, but after a second, he shrugged.

“Okay, fine. We’re halfway to rich fields as it is, so whatever,” he said, still keeping his tone light as he leaned back in the passenger seat. It was Leslie’s turn to raise her eyebrows at him, but she said nothing. She had a feeling he was refraining from making a comment as she drove back to the Lamont family home, pulling up to the gate and stopping so Crystal could exit the Hummer and buzz in. Worried, Leslie rolled down the window on her side and leaned out to address her friend.

“Crystal, are you going to be okay, honey-doll?” She asked. The younger girl looked at her with wide, fearful eyes that she turned upon Copperhead once before looking back to Leslie. She gave a hesitant nod, her lower lip quivering slightly.

“Listen, Crys…” Leslie lowered her voice to a whisper, “Just…don’t talk about this to anyone, alright? Not yet.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Copperhead snorted. “I’m not even three feet away from you, _chica_. I’m _right_ here.”

Crystal gave a squeak of fear and tears started afresh in her eyes.

“I won’t say anything, I promise!” She said in a quick breath, before turning on her heel and charging away through the gates as they opened. Leslie huffed in irritation.

“Nice going, Luiz! Thanks a lot!”

“ _De nada_ ,” he shrugged again as they pulled away, “She was kind of irritating after a bit. She cries too much.”

“She’s fourteen.” Leslie muttered.

“Ah, that explains it. But, ah…why are you hanging out with a fourteen-year-old?”

“Because I’m her friend.”

“What, her only friend?”

She fixed him with another glare, working her jaw and slowing down the car. His amber eyes widened abruptly in understanding.

“ _OH_.” He said, his cheeks flushing slightly in shame. “My bad.” She gave no response to this, and he was left studying the stubborn set of her jaw and the slight pink flush to her own cheeks. Eventually, he felt prompted to comment again. “So…do you have any actual friends aside from loners, or do you just take a particular shine to freaks?”

“Crystal’s not a freak—“ she began to protest, to which he gave a hissing laugh.

“Who said I was talking about Baby-Braces?”

Leslie tossed a glance at him, catching a glimpse of a somewhat crooked grin on his face, and heat crept up her neck as she drove. Was he actually starting to tease her? Right now? _Really?_ The jerk.

“Hey, are you blushing?”

“No!” She snapped, just a little too quickly and too defensively, and he snickered again, his shoulders shaking awkwardly in the too-big trenchcoat. She glanced at him, then eyed the coat and frowned. “Is that really the best you could do on short notice? Doll, we’ve got to get you something else.”

“Somehow I doubt anything in your mall-sized closet will fit me, _princesa_.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you cross-dress, you dork,” she snorted, rolling her eyes, “Not in _my_ clothes. I like you, but you’re not borrowing any of my Versace originals. No, I meant I could get you a suit.”

“ _I_ could _steal_ myself a suit,” he argued, “Don’t bother wasting your money on trying to help me out, rich girl. Don’t even see why you would want to, considering you’re always harping on about the fact I keep slipping out of the pen.”

He brought up a solid point there at the end; why in the world did she feel obligated to help him out anyway? She cast about in her thoughts for a while, trying to rationalize it, before settling on the sheer fact that it was her duty as someone familiar with the world of fashion and proper attire to save Copperhead’s poor, misguided, fashionably-challenged soul. And at any rate, she could pass this off as an eighteenth-birthday gift from herself to a friend.

“Because you need a fashion-conscious friend in your life to help keep you from embarrassing yourself too often,” she answered him, “Besides, consider it one of my birthday presents to you.”

“Wait, what?” He demanded, sitting bolt upright in the seat, and she smiled carefully.

“You heard me,” she said in a light, playful tone, “As one of my birthday gifts to myself, I’m going to buy you a proper outfit for your casual wardrobe. And don’t think for a second you’re going to talk me out of this.”


	6. Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit

_How did I ever get myself into this situation?_

The thought ran through Luiz’s mind more than once as they approached their destination.  To a degree, this was a nuisance: Leslie was a presumptuous little rich girl who was too naïve to take him seriously, hence she did things like dragging him out to go suit-shopping.  On the other hand, she genuinely appeared to be interested in him, and persisted in trying to build a friendship.  And that wasn’t something he’d had before.  Still, he really should have tried harder to scare her witless when they’d first met at the mall.  Maybe if he had, he would have succeeded in his plan and would be out somewhere living large, instead of stuck here in Gotham, constantly getting caught over and over.

“What’s on your mind?” Leslie asked abruptly.  He glanced sideways at her and grinned slyly, bearing his fangs.

“Scaring you.” He replied.

“Don’t make jokes like that, it isn’t funny!” she spluttered, going bright red.

“I wasn’t joking.” He answered with a low chuckle.

“Do you want me to get you a suit or not?”

“Not really, no.”

“That was supposed to be a rhetorical question.  You were supposed to not answer.”

“ _Lo siento_.”

“No, you’re not; don’t even lie to me.  Ah!  We’re here!”

She parked the Hummer outside what appeared to be a rather swanky-looking boutique with a French word for a name.  Luiz didn’t even want to try pronouncing it.  Something about this gave him an ominous feeling.  Leslie had to half-pry his tail off of the seat and practically dragged him into the store.

The inside of the boutique looked at least ten times swankier than the outside, and the first thing to really steal Luiz’s attention was the smell.  The shop was fragrant in a way he wasn’t familiar with, the scents of high-end clothing blending with something more aromatic that excited his sense of smell.  After that, he started to notice the clothes.  Most of them looked more expensive than anything he had ever seen, except perhaps on television, and some of the women’s dresses alone looked like they were worth more than many things he’d stolen before.  But he barely had time to ponder that from a thief’s perspective before his attention was seized again.

“Sophie, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.” Leslie suddenly said, grabbing him by the arm.  “I want you to make a suit for him.”

And he found himself staring, face-to-face, with a short, bespectacled woman with messy, electric-blue hair on a partially-shaved head.  If Luiz had had to guess this woman’s name based solely upon her appearance, “Sophie” would _never_ have crossed his mind.

“You want me to make a suit for _this_?” She said, affronted, as she gestured at him.

“ _Hey!_ ” He said indignantly, instantly angry.

“Leslie darling, why do you bring me these hopeless cases?” Sophie tutted as she slowly started to stroll around Luiz, examining him.

“‘Hopeless cases?’” He repeated angrily, his tail thrashing.

“But you _can_ make him a suit, can’t you?” Leslie asked, looking worried.

“Pooh bear,” Sophie began, flipping strands of her electric blue hair out of her eyes, “I am _Sophie_.  I can make any suit.  But _this_ job won’t be easy.  Claude!  Bo!  Where are you, boys?  Sophie needs you both!”

No sooner had she started snapping her fingers than two men appeared to materialize at her sides, men who glittered and sparkled as their shimmering, matching vests caught the light.  Instantly they began shaking their heads and _tutting_ their disapproval.  Luiz gave Leslie a look of utmost skepticism.

“You want _these_ people to make me a suit?” He asked doubtfully.

“Relax,” she said with an infuriatingly upbeat smile, “I know Sophie and the guys are a little flashy, but I promise you won’t come out covered in sequins.”

“Oh sure I won’t,” he snorted as Claude and Bo started to drag him behind a fitting screen, “ _Pooh bear_.”

*****

“Tony, stop that.”

“Stop what?” He asked, startled out of his thinking.

“Looking like you’re brooding over something,” Steven said, rummaging about the kitchen for his stash of green tea, “You know better.  Only _I’m_ allowed to look like that.”

Tony said nothing but leaned back in his chair and unfolded his arms with a bit of a sigh.

“ _Fine_.” He muttered, only exaggerating his tone a little.

“What do you have to brood over, anyway?” Steven asked with a bit of a nasty edge.  “What, did you break a hockey stick or something?  Forget a girl’s phone number?”

“Ah-ha-ha, very funny,” Tony said sarcastically, “You should be a stand-up comic.”

His older brother glared at him a moment, then furrowed his brow in thought.

“You know, now that I think about it, you’ve been doing this on and off since that night Leslie said she had a guy in her room.” He remarked, and as Tony’s face started to burn in surprise and guilt, his brother’s eyes widened.  “You _know_ something about that, don’t you?  You freakin’ _know_ something!  Spill it, you big jock!”

Tony spun around from his seat at the counter and glowered at Steven.

“It’s none of your business, jerkwad.”

“Spill to me, or I’ll tell our parents, and then you’ll have to tell _all_ of us.”

“Not gonna happen.  Don’t you have _any_ respect for our sister’s privacy, man?”

“Uh, _no_.” Steven snorted, abandoning his tea at the counter before flying out of the galley kitchen.  It took Tony a second to register what his brother was up to, and he stumbled, breaking into a run after Steven.  Their sister was going to _hate_ them by the end of the day.

*****

Pins _hurt_.

They _really_ hurt.

Pins _especially_ hurt when they’re being jabbed at sensitive spots all along the base of a tail.  Luiz was learning this firsthand and the more pain he had to put up with, the shorter his temper was getting.  Ignoring the fact that of all the indignities he was being made to suffer, having his tail yanked and prodded was one of them, he didn’t appreciate pain at all.

“This had better be worth it,” he growled in a low voice, “Or I’m gonna tear off your fingers, shimmer twins.”

Claude and Bo exchanged a roll of the eyes, and deliberately tightened the waist of his slacks being fitted until he let out a high yelp.

“Guys, be nice in there!” Leslie called from the other side of the screens.

“We _are_!” Claude and Bo chorused defensively.

“No, they’re not, they’re lying!” he wheezed as he squirmed to give his tail some more room.  “I can barely breathe!  I think I may be getting a vague understanding of how women who wore corsets centuries ago always felt!”

“Guys!” came the exasperated cry, “I said to fit him for a suit, not kill him!”

Silently, Luiz tried to imagine how many sequins the two men would shed if he found a way to clothesline them for revenge.  His mind jumped away from that, almost immediately suspicious.  How could he be sure this Sophie and her pin-sticking minions wouldn’t go to the police about his presence?  Sensible people would—although whoever lived in Gotham from day to day was subject to scrutiny concerning how “sensible” they were.  Of course, there was always the possibility that these people had _no_ clue who he was…

_That’s ridiculous,_ he thought acidly, _Even if they don’t, any person with two brain cells to rub together would be scared of a guy who’s part-snake.  Ah, well.  If they do call the cops, I’ll just use little Miss Princess as a hostage again._

_Yeah right, Luiz,_ some slightly more sardonic part of his mind responded, _because that worked_ so _well with Batman._

“Copper?” Leslie’s voice broke into his musings, tentative and low.  “Are you okay?  You’re being kinda quiet.  You guys didn’t strangle him, did you?”

“Ha!” He laughed mirthlessly.  “No, not that they would have a lot of luck if they tried.”

He expected to get another pin jabbed into unmentionably painful places for that one, but the men in the vests turned away to begin comparing notes with Sophie.

“Well, don’t scare me like that!” Leslie scolded.

“Kind of pointless, telling me not to scare you,” he remarked back, peering around the corner of the screens and flashing a toothy smile at her, “Because I like doing that.”

She frowned but before either of them could say a thing, he was yanked back by Sophie, who _tutted_ and fussed for a moment before forcing him to raise his arms to the sides.  He complied more out of being startled than anything, and founded a silky-soft shirt was being slipped on him.  The woman snapped at him to button the shirt up, and then afterward bent his arms at an angle to put an over-shirt and suit jacket on.  He barely had time to glance down at the sleeves before they pushed him along in front of the unfolding multi-angle mirrors.

This whole experience felt extremely bizarre.

“How does it look?” Leslie asked, and it was only then that he really started to take in his appearance.  Despite the fact the pants were being held up with pins, the suit overall looked incredibly crisp and sleek.  And if he disregarded his obviously inhuman traits, Luiz found he looked _good_ in a suit.  Not gentlemanly, per se, but good.

“Oh, looking _sharp_ , Copper!” A voice purred behind him, and he caught sight of Leslie in the mirror, smiling and waggling her eyebrows.  Heat started to creep into his face and he scowled back at her.

_The second I say something about sexual harassment,_ the cynical part of him thought, _she’s going to twist it against me._

_Idiot!_ The rest of his brain argued back. _She’s paying you a compliment, whatever her expression suggests.  Just take the win._

“Thanks.” His mouth mumbled quietly.

“Indeed,” Sophie spoke up briskly, “Don’t I _always_ work miracles?”

“What’s going on with the slacks though?” Leslie asked, walking up to him and gesturing at the pins around his hips.

“We’ll have to do a little fast custom work,” the seamstress admitted, “Tails are tricky.”

“But you _can_ do it, can’t you?” Leslie asked.

“Of course we can and in just a couple of hours.  I’ve had clients with tails before.  But we’ll need to distractions.  Have him change and the two of you can go do something out of the way.  Go walk around the rest of the shopping plaza or something.  Bo, lock up and shut everything down; we’ve got work to do.”

*****

Two sets of eyes stared coldly at Tony, who swallowed hard.  To his side, he could feel Steven looking smugly triumphant, and had to resist the urge to give his brother a solid punch on the shoulder.

“Well, Anthony?” His mother demanded in a crisp, curt tone.  “Is this true?”

He bit his lower lip, chewing nervously.  If he told the truth, Leslie was probably never going to forgive him and feel he had betrayed her trust.  If he didn’t tell the truth… well, that wasn’t an option, because his parents would know he was lying.  After all, he’d never really been good at it, not the way Steven and Leslie learned how to lie through their teeth.

“Have you been helping your sister keep this secret from us?” His father chimed in.

Tony had no choice; lying just wasn’t an option in this case.  Shutting his eyes, he lowered his head and slowly nodded.

*****

“You know, you haven’t told me your real reason for doing this.”

Leslie looked up from her phone and pursed her lips as her blue eyes slipped to the Metahuman, hidden once again in the oversized trench coat.  At least he’d had the sense to ditch the hat, and was walking next to her with his head uncovered.  Really, he looked rather handsome without his ridiculous costume.  And now he was eyeing her in a shrewd, calculating way.  He was also rather cleverer than one might have thought.

“Beg pardon?” she asked, pretending to simper a little, and his amber eyes narrowed in open irritation.

“You’ve got some other motivation for doing this, making these people tailor me a suit.  Why don’t you just tell me what it is?” he asked.

“What if I really don’t have a motivation besides trying to help you look sharp?”

“Then you really are as shallow as I first thought and everything you told me during that one car ride was all one really elaborate lie.”

That stung deep.  She stopped walking and stared at him, trying to blink back tears.  How could he say that to her so nonchalantly?  Did she really seem that shallow?  She thought he had understood…  It took him a second to realize she wasn’t walking right next to him, and he also quickly came to a halt, looking back at her in surprise.  After a moment he winced, looking somewhat taken aback.

“Okay, that was a low blow.” He admitted.

“You think?!” she scoffed, crossing her arms.  “What, just because I’m some rich little white girl, I’m not allowed to splurge and buy a friend a gift?”

“Wha—I—but—ehh…” he spluttered, trailing off into uncertainty.  Leslie raised her eyebrows in challenge, and he sighed.  “Would you stop that?  You know that’s not what I meant.  And why can’t you just tell me why you’re doing this?”

“Do I really need a reason?” she countered.

“I’d prefer one.” He replied smoothly, walking back up to her.

“Fine,” she said quickly in a bit of a huff, “I’m doing this because nothing suits you like a suit.  Nothing suits any guy like a suit.”

“Isn’t that the name of some Broadway song or something?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Are you _really_ quoting a musical to respond to my question, _princesa_?”

“Why does it matter if I am or I’m not?  Sounds like you aren’t willing to believe or trust anything I say anyway.”

He went very still, closing his mouth and working his jaw as those gold eyes studied her face.  She stared back, patiently waiting to see if he would try to continue the argument.  After a moment or two, Luiz’s thin nostrils flared a bit as he inhaled and exhaled in frustration, his shoulders rolling forward in a bit of a slouch.

“ _Jesús Christo_ , you are annoying on so many levels; you know that?  Besides, all you did just now was essentially rephrase the reason you already gave me.”

“And _you_ accused me of being a stereotypically shallow heiress.  That _hurts_ , especially after I opened up to you the way I did.  Why should I grace that with my real reasoning?”

He frowned in a guilty sort of way at that, hunching his shoulders uncomfortably.  He glanced away, casting his gaze about restlessly as though trying to think of something to say to that.  Finally, he looked at his feet in a resigned way before tilting his gaze up to her again, eyes wide and apologetic.

“You know, you’re not really good at looking like a sad, kicked puppy,” Leslie muttered, crossing her arms and sticking her chin out to the side, “Your eyes kind of ruin it a little.”

His eyes went even wider as his lip started to quiver and he said in an overly-crushed voice, “What, I don’t look pathetic enough for you?”

Leslie’s own lips began to quiver as she fought to keep from smiling, but it was no use.  A snorting laugh burst out of her and she doubled over from giggling.

“Oh, no,” she wheezed between giggles, “You’re plenty pathetic, doll-face!”

“Only when I want to be,” he replied somewhat stiffly, but when she looked up, he was smiling in his roguish way as he smoothed out the trench coat he was wearing.  The sight of it made something unexpected pop into Leslie’s mind.

“Aren’t you overheating in that tacky old thing?”

He blinked, thrown by the unanticipated question for an instant, before his smile widened and he chuckled.  It was a low, rolling sound, the sort that gave Leslie pleasant shivers.

“Not too familiar with reptiles are you, huh?  No, I’m not overheating.  I’ve suspected for a long time I may actually be cold-blooded, literally.” He answered with a mild shrug.

“Huh.  Talk about irony!” Leslie mused, shaking her head with a dry chuckle and stroking her chin in mock thought.  “A cold-blooded snake-man, who’d have thought?”

He gave her a flat look.

“You need to work on your sarcasm, _princesa_.”

She replied with a smile, but if she had been planning on saying anything, she was cut off by a timely chime of her phone receiving a text message.  She retrieved it from her pocket, recognizing Sophie’s number immediately.

“I think they’ve finished your suit.”

“Already?” he asked in surprise.

“I told you Sophie’s good.” She said with a wry smile.

“…alright,” Luiz admitted begrudgingly when they were back in the shop and he was trying on the suit in front of the mirrors again, “She’s good.”

“But of course!” the woman in question said with a dramatic flourish.  “I am _Sophie_!  You won’t find better in Gotham City than _my_ work, darling.”

“Are you sure about that?  Because I’m pretty sure I’ve stolen from better.” Luiz asked, letting out a yelp when Bo took the chance to jab him one last time with a pin.

“There is no better in Gotham.” Sophie answered with a sly smirk.  “Be grateful, snake-man.  Miss Smith has _really_ taken a shine to you, ordering this suit and settling the tab for you and everything.  This is a gift, so learn to appreciate it.”

He tossed the diminutive fashionista a frown, though he kept quiet.  Something about her words nagged at him.  ‘Learn to appreciate it?’  What was _that_ supposed to mean?  Was that referring to the suit, Leslie, Leslie’s offer of friendship, her energetic generosity, or all of those things combined?  Rolling his eyes, he moved past her, seeking out Leslie where she was seated on a chair.  Her eyes were practically glued to the screen of her phone, and her expression was bordering on devastated.  Probably some stupid post on Twitter or Instagram or whatever.  He unconsciously began to swagger a little as he walked toward her, hoping to get her attention.

“So what do you think, _chica_ ; am I looking good?”

She gave a small jump and looked up at him, staring wide-eyed as though he were a complete stranger.  She said nothing, but gave a firm nod as she slid off of Sophie's chair.

_What the heck?_ Luiz’s mouth fell slightly ajar as he watched her.  What was going on with her now?  Inexplicably, this felt something like a cold slap to the face.

“I’ve gotta go.” She muttered quickly in a glum voice he had never heard her use before, and she spun on her heel, charging toward the door without so much as another word or a backwards glance.


	7. Meet The Family Drama

Leslie felt herself go into a state somewhere between shock and mild panic when she received Tony’s text message. It wasn’t like she had been so stupid as to think her parents would never find out about her interactions with Copperhead; she was blonde, but she wasn’t _blonde_ , thank you. Still, she _had_ hoped they wouldn’t find out _this_ soon. She was really in for it now.

She was in the Hummer with the door halfway shut when it was suddenly pulled away from her. Guiltily she looked up at Copperhead, blushing as she met his amber eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He demanded, scowling dangerously. “You’re not just going to walk out on me, not without telling me what’s going on.”

She let out a defeated sigh. She really didn’t have the time for this, so hopefully the truth of the matter would make him back off.

“My parents found out.” She mumbled quietly.

“Found out what?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“About you,” she answered, “Or more accurately, that I keep talking to you and running into you.”

“So?”

She stifled a humorless laugh. His candor was just incredible sometimes.

“ _So_ ,” she emphasized impatiently, “I’m in trouble. So now I have to go home and receive my just punishment from my parental units.”

He studied her for a moment, his expression blank, before promptly walking around the Hummer and opening the passenger side door.

“Okay then, let’s go.” He said casually, climbing into the passenger seat and tossing his costume in the back. Leslie couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open as she stared, dumbfounded.

“No. No, you are not that _crazy_. Luiz, I am going to get the crap grilled out of me for this. Why the frick do you think I would _want you along_?” she asked, almost sputtering in her shock.

“Hey, if your family has some problem with me, _chica_ , then they can say it to my _face_.” He answered steely, his pupils thinning. The sight chilled the young heiress. He was ticked. And over this? Was he ticked off at her, or at her family on her behalf? Whatever it was, she wasn’t sure she entirely liked seeing these flashes of his anger. Something about it made him look less human than normal.

She tried to put it out of her mind as she shook her head and reluctantly began the drive back home.

*

Luiz decided very quickly he didn’t like this sort of silence Leslie was making him live through as she drove back to her family mansion. Sure, her talking non-stop could get irritating fast, but that was part of her natural state, he had realized. This sort of anxious quiet state? That wasn’t at all natural for her, and considering how it came about, Luiz figured it was a pretty bad sign and took note of it. Once or twice, he tried to break up the silence, attempting to get her to engage in conversation, but it didn’t really work.

Before long they arrived, greeted by the intercom at the gates in a rather rude manner.

“Leslie Colleen Smith,” a crisp, feminine voice said tersely, “You will park your brother’s Hummer in garage B, and then you will join us in your father’s office.”

She didn’t offer a response, but rolled her window back up as the gate slid open.

“That sounds like you’re being summoned to a board meeting to get fired from a desk job,” Luiz remarked, furrowing his brow, “Was that your _mother?_ ”

“Yes, I know; delightful, isn’t she?” Leslie shook her head slightly. He didn’t respond, but raised his eyebrows and sucked in a breath through his teeth. Despite his earlier accusations, he thought he could see what she had meant about constantly putting on an act around different people. In that case, what kind of people were her parents?

_I suppose I’m going to find out._ He thought, feeling a touch of irony for some reason. He cast about for something to say, but couldn’t come up with anything as Leslie pulled into a garage, parking the Hummer next to some sports car. They exited the vehicle in silence, Luiz snatching his costume from the backseat and falling in step behind her as she entered the house, attempting to keep his focus from wandering. It wasn’t easy; he found himself automatically trying to case the mansion, taking notice of small, telltale signs of the security system, vent locations, what he could see that looked valuable, what wasn’t bolted down… and what looked like hidden panels or false walls that might be hiding small vaults.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re not trying to think of what you could possibly steal.” Leslie mumbled after having glanced over her should and caught him looking around.

“Bit late for that, _chica_ ,” he answered, snatching a heavy fountain pen off a sideboard they passed, “Plus I think in just a little more detail than you give me credit for. And anyway, I behaved last time I was here. Is this made with silver inlay? Because it feels like pewter.”

“What the—?! Give me that!” She hissed, snatching it out of his hands. “Keep your greedy mitts to yourself, you kleptomaniac!”

“I’m not a klepto, I’m a jewel thief.” He said indignantly. “Wouldn’t pick it up if it didn’t look valuable.”

“Yeah, right!” She snorted, but he was pretty sure he glimpsed the flash of a smile on her mouth, and he held back a crooked grin.

“Come on, you think I’m funny.” He said, nudging her a little, as they passed by something else that caught his eye. He halted mid-step, turning to do a double-take. Leslie kept right on walking and talking as he slipped through the open door into an adjacent room. Whether it was a den or a study, he wasn’t sure; but he didn’t really care, as he had eyes for one thing: the old World War II aerial transistor radio he had spotted resting on the fireplace mantle. In that moment, his golden eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Hel—lo, _beautiful_.”

*

Leslie hadn’t noticed Luiz had slipped away from her and vanished until she reached her parents’ study and looked over her shoulder to address him. An empty hallway was all that greeted her.

“Luiz?” She whispered uncertainly down the hall. When she received no response, she hissed a little louder, “Luiz!”

“Leslie?” Her father’s voice, cracking like a glacier in a cold tone he rarely used, issued from the other side of the door, only just muffled. “Come in!”

Feeling more than a little irritated and thrown to the wolves, she yanked open the door with a scowl and stomped in, crossing her arms and looking resolutely down at her shoes.

“Leslie Colleen Smith, uncross your arms!” Her mother snapped, sounding disgusted, but she didn’t budge beyond briefly thrusting her chin into the air to show what she thought of _that_. Her father didn’t seem overly concerned by it, instead leaning forward on his elbows across the desk, giving her the ‘business stare’.

“Young lady,” beginning in a dangerous tone, not that she had expected anything else from her no-nonsense father, “Your brothers tell us you’ve been keeping secrets behind our backs. You’ve been frequently encountering some _criminal_ and spending time around the man without giving it a second thought and acting like it’s nothing.”

“Since when do you care whether or not I have secrets?” She snapped back, looking up and glaring at him. “Since when are the two of you ever involved in anything I do?”

“That’s not the point—“ her mother began.

“Yeah, it kind of is!” She interrupted, speaking over her and raising her voice, her temper flaring. “Maybe if you were ever around and had ever thought to ask me yourselves, I would have said something!”

To her right, she caught Steven and Tony looking her way at the edges of her peripheral vision, but chose to ignore it. All three of them knew Leslie would probably dance around the subject had her parents been involved and brought it up themselves, but she was too upset with both of them to acknowledge it at the moment.

“Leslie, did you never stop to consider the consequences?” Her father asked steely, working to regain control of the conversation, and for a moment her irritation wavered.

“Well yeah,” she admitted, “I’m not stupid, I know super-criminals are dangerous, even the less-heard-of—“

“I’m not talking about the obvious danger,” her father cut her off, “Even homeless drunks and red-light district women can tell you super-criminals are dangerous. I mean, did you consider the consequences closer to home?”

This gave her a moment of pause. The danger closer to home? That Copperhead might rob them blind? That he could threaten the lives of her family? Perhaps she hadn’t given that as much thought as she could have, but—

“Do you have any _idea_ what this could mean for our family, young lady? For the business? You of all people should know that gossip starts fast and dies slow!”

She looked up in disbelief, her mouth falling open.

“You’re worried about the impact _my_ hanging out with a criminal might have on your _business_?!” She exclaimed.

“It’s not just the business, girl, and you know that!” Her mother interjected. “Think of the media, the social aspects and impacts! You’re an heiress to a fortune—“

“Hey!” Steven grumbled. “We’re here too, you know.”

“—and the news will be all over any scrap of a rumor that you’ve taken up with disreputable people!” Mrs. Smith continued loudly. “We shall become the laughingstock of the business world in Gotham City! Nobody in high society will ever trust us again; once word gets out you’re rubbing shoulders with the wrong people, the entire family will be stonewalled out of fear! _Not_ ,” she added, “that I would be able to blame anyone for doing so.”

Leslie uncrossed her arms so she could drop them to her sides, gently clenching and unclenching her fists.

“Are you _kidding_ me? _Seriously?_ I try to be nice to someone and treat them like a _person_ , regardless of whether or not it could go really wrong, and all _you_ care about is whether or not it means you get invited to so-and-so’s next black-tie event?!” She scoffed, shaking her head, completely thrown. She couldn’t _believe_ this!

“Leslie—“ her father began in a manner that was clearly going to belittle her, baby her, tell her she couldn’t possibly even begin to comprehend the big picture. She wasn’t going to have any of it.

“Don’t you _dare_!” Her voice erupted in a yell. “Don’t even _start_!”

“Don’t talk to your father that way, you disrespectful little terror!” Her mother bellowed, getting up in her face, a painted nail slicing through the air as she waggled a finger dangerously. “I _know_ we didn’t raise you to be so thoughtless and insolent!”

“Me, thoughtless!” Leslie shrieked, nearing hysterics, her breath coming in sharp bursts. “You know what, _screw this!_ Why should I even _listen_ to you?! All you care about is looking good in front of cameras and people!”

Silence fell as though she had just physically attacked both of her parents. All three of them were breathing heavily, faces flushed with anger. This sort of thing never happened. Leslie waited for her brothers to jump in, for Stevie-wonder to say something about how she was just the same as the rest of them, and for Anthony to hastily try to calm everyone down. 

Their silence was instead broken by something else entirely.

“So I wasn’t expecting this to be a complete family feud to the extreme, but I’m actually kind of entertained.”

Stunned, the Smith family turned as one toward the door, and Leslie covered her mouth to conceal her reaction upon seeing Luiz leaning on the doorframe, holding her grandfather’s old WWII radio and grinning shamelessly. He glanced at her, his smile going slightly more crooked, and winked.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, _princesa_.” He chuckled. “Color me impressed. So… is this the family, then?”

His tail slid back and forth across the hardwood floor as he spoke, and the rest of them seemed to snap back to their senses.

“Sir,” Mr. Smith started, “Sir! You are breaking and enteri—“

“Eh, correct me if I’m wrong, _señor_ , but I’m technically not breaking and entering if she invited me in.” Luiz interrupted, his tone completely unimpressed as he nodded to Leslie.

“You _brought this criminal with you?!_ ” Mrs. Smith screeched, her hands flying up to entangle themselves in a ruined perm. “LESLIE COLLEEN SMITH!!”

“What did you think, that I was stalking her?” He snorted. “Give me a break, yeesh! We just keep running into each other. She brought me along because she was having some Sophie woman and her pin-sticking _diablos_ make me a suit.”

The effect of mentioning Sophie making a suit was what finally did it. In the blink of an eye, Mrs. Smith swooned and had to be caught by Tony, who tried to push her back onto her feet, and Mr. Smith’s face went from red to stark white to a pale shade of green. Automatically he started to grope around his desk for a phone—probably to finally call the police, Leslie realized—but she was faster by far, snatching the cordless handset and two cell phones off the desk before anyone could stop her.

“Leslie!” Tony gasped as she tossed the phones to Luiz, whose smile only got wider in his smug triumph. Mr. Smith was the first to fully recover, his eyebrows narrowing as his scowl shifted from his daughter to the thief.

“What do you want?” He asked angrily, to which Luiz slowly shook his head and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Well for one thing, a little human decency and respect won’t hurt,” he replied, “For someone with such high standards, you’re rather rude, _ya sabes_. For another, I wouldn’t mind forgetting this place and everything in it if you just let me take this.”

“Granddad’s old radio?” Tony asked, as he and Steven goggled at it in shock.

“Fine, fine,” Mr. Smith said in exasperation, waving a dismissive hand, “Take the radio if you want, but _go_. And don’t _ever_ contact our daughter again, or we will—“

“What?!” Leslie’s outburst cut off her father’s threat, and to her surprise, Luiz echoed her response.

“What.” He said blankly, taken by surprise.

“Well, I guess that’ll make him happy,” Tony mumbled awkwardly, “Since sis keeps setting the Justice League on him and all.”

“Wait, you set the Justice League on him?” Steven asked doubtfully, shooting her a startled look. She didn’t even bother trying to protest the point as Luiz nodded vigorously.

“ _Chica es mala suerte_.” He remarked before frowning at the Smith parents again. “Does this go both ways, then? Because most of the time, she finds me.”

Leslie tossed him a significant look at that, but neither one could say a word before both of her parents and her eldest brother quite vocally insisted “no contact” meant _no contact_. She watched a small change flicker over Luiz’s face, a flash of irritation, just barely perceptible. Was he possibly as upset about this as she was?

Her musing suddenly snapped something into place in her mind. She wasn’t just angry at her parents’ reactions, she _wanted_ to be able to see and talk to this ridiculous snake-man whenever she felt like it. Luiz had been more straightforward with her than her family from day one, and in any event, she _had_ just dropped a pretty penny on a suit for him. This of course meant Leslie was entitled to see said suit and the man wearing it when she so pleased.

“Alright, alright,” Luiz finally said, keeping his voice low with just a hint of barbed venom in his syllables, “Keep your shirts on. I’ll be leaving. But if I get even the slightest inkling that you’re calling the police when I’m gone…”

He curled back his lips in a sneer, revealing his teeth like he had done to Leslie at the mall a couple of months ago. The words “why don’t you use your imagination” echoed in her thoughts, and a shiver moved through the length of her spine. Heat threatened to rise in her cheeks, and she did her best to avoid looking directly at the Metahuman. Instead she glanced between her parents and her brothers, unsurprised but vindictively pleased to see the fear and alarm on their faces.

“I do not appreciate threats, sir—“ her father began again.

“You are a psychotic—“ her mother started.

Luiz deliberately ignored them both, and turned towards her. Her face was definitely beginning to burn now, but still she turned to face him, pulled by some force she couldn’t put a name to.

“ _Gracias, señorita_.” He purred, tilting his head and grinning. Leslie gave another small shiver, but managed a half-smile in return.

“ _De nada_.” She answered, the Spanish words slipping out of her mouth automatically. There was a sharp intake of breath behind her—probably Steven, if she had a guess—but she didn’t care. She felt inexplicably delighted, like the two of them were children sharing some special secret that nobody else would fully understand or appreciate.

He slipped out the door, breaking the spell, and the rest of the Smith family erupted into angry discussion. Leslie continued to stare at the door a moment before trotting forward and wrenching it open to look down the hall. But Luiz had vanished and wasn’t entirely shocked to find the hallways empty. Disappointment started to chew away at her insides then, and it was a minute or two before she realized her parents were talking to her.

“Leslie, are you even listening?” Her father snapped. “Leslie! Leslie Colleen!”

She turned back, glaring at them all.

“She’s not listening.” Steven muttered, rolling his eyes. “What a shock.”

“Shut UP, you jerk!” She shouted, the floodgate of emotion finally bursting and pouring forth her anger unchecked. “This is all your fault! This would’ve been fine if you hadn’t stuck your fat head into my business!”

“Hey,” Steven’s face started turning a violent shade of red as he growled at her, “Maybe you should take a reality check, twerp! You wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with if you had used your brain and not started talking to a psycho basket-case in a costume!”

Indignant rage trickled into her anger as she took a threatening stride toward her brother.

“He is _NOT_ a psycho! You don’t even _know_ him!”

“Whoa, chill!” Tony yelped, jumping between them and grabbing the collars of their shirts to keep them apart.

“Oh, what?” Steven snorted back at her as though nothing had occurred. “And you do?”

His words hit with the full force of a backhanded slap in the face. Leslie opened her mouth to protest, but no words came to her. She closed her mouth for a second, then reopened it only to realize she had nothing to defend herself with, and closed her mouth once more. Her anger was turning inward, outward, twisting all around. What could she say to defend Copperhead? Could she say anything?

_He’s right though,_ a tiny little voice in Leslie’s head remarked. _Steven’s right. I really don’t know anything about Luiz, not beyond his names and a criminal career, and I don’t even know a lot about those, either._

Something in her core tried to uncoil, tried to go limp in admission of defeat. But she wouldn’t let it. Not here, not now, and not in front of her family of self-serving, self-important _sharks_. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, her chest heaving.

“I’m going to my room.” She said through gritted teeth, wiggling free of Tony’s grip.

“This is far from over, young lady.” Her mother warned.

“Whatever.” She muttered unhappily, hunching her shoulders and crossing her arms as she darted from the study, blinking back the sting of tears.

*****

_Thunk-thunk-thunk._

“Les?”

She let out a frustrated growl, grabbing one of her pillows and folding it around her head to cover her ears. The last thing she wanted was more pathetic apology attempts from Tony.

“Come on, kiddo! You know I didn’t mean to let anything slip!” He called through her bedroom door. “You’ve gotta stop doing this.”

She stuffed the pillow against her ears as best as she could. She could sulk all week long if she wanted. In a way, that was sort of the intent. If Crystal or one of the Beauregard sisters needed her for anything, she’d come out of her room, but otherwise she was content to stay where she was. She had a feeling her parents would eventually confine her there anyway; if she was going to be locked up like a prison, she wanted it to be on _her_ terms, not theirs.

“Seriously, Leslie.” Tony’s voice lost its authoritative edge and there was a heavy, muffled thud. He had probably planted himself on the floor in the hallway. “You’re not accomplishing anything with this.”

Some logical part of her agreed; there really wasn’t a point in continuing to act like a child over what had happened. She pushed those thoughts away. This wasn’t really much of a victory for her, but it was _something_.

“Come on, you need to at _least_ eat supper.” Her brother continued. “We’re having sandwiches. Like, _deli-fresh_ sandwiches. With actual baked-fresh bread.”

Like a traitor, her stomach let out a hungry growl at the very mention of fresh sandwiches. She wasn’t starving herself—Leslie had long been the most accomplished at slipping out of her room to get midnight snacks—but the thought of freshly-made supper, even sandwiches, made her mouth water. She gave a small swallow to moisten her throat. She was _not_ going to give in now. She rolled over on her bed and shut her eyes tightly, wishing her brother would give up and go away already.

She wasn’t aware of having drifted off to sleep until a soft rustling noise woke her up. Eyes opening wide, Leslie remained curled in her covers a second, heart beating fast.

“Hello?” She whispered. The room had gone rather dark, save fro the light of the full moon shining in through the open window. Immediately she tensed.

She hadn’t left her window open at all.

A warm breeze blew in through the room, small encouragement, and she sat up, keeping her blanket drawn around her protectively.

“Hello?” she said again, a little louder this time. There was a pointed silence, the sort that occurs when somebody lurking out of sight is trying hard not to make a sound. Feeling fractionally more bold and suspicious, she called out in a loud stage whisper, “Copper?”

She wasn’t aware of it until it moved, but she watched a long, sinuous coil of muscle twitch and whip out of sight, vanishing from the side of the window frame. Unable to quell an impulsive rush of excitement, she slipped off the edge of the bed, trotting toward the window. Her foot came into contact with something soft that crinkled against the wall, and she hastily moved away to get a better look at it.

“A paper bag?” She muttered to herself, bending down to scoop it up in both hands. It was warm and a heavy, comforting aroma wafted from the bag as she lifted it. Taking a quick glance outside and seeing no one, she pulled the window shut and latched it before opening the bag. Wrapped carefully in wax paper and cut in two portions on warm bread was, undeniably, supper. Probably not the same supper her family had made, given her parents’ dislike of such plebian foods as tuna salad melts, but it smelled and looked delicious.

The sandwich wasn’t the only thing in the bag, however. The corner of a folded piece of paper caught her eye as well. Curious, Leslie pulled the paper out and unfolded it, revealing slanted, spiky handwriting.

_Quit being so stubborn, princess._

Instantly she smiled from ear to ear, feeling happy again as she hugged the bag and the note, giggling softly.


	8. Something Like Cabin-Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ties in with the first chapter of its sister-story, _Being Human_ , just in the event anyone was interested in checking that out as well and seeing where it falls in the plotline.

Eventually Leslie’s resolve broke.  The moment mention was made of the Beauregards throwing a decently-sized to-do in celebration of Daniel Beauregard’s new promotion, she deigned to venture out of her room.  She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to socialize at the party, but it _would_ give her the chance to talk to Stephanie Beauregard again.  Stephanie was one of the only friends Leslie had who was older than she, and what was more, Steph had only recently landed a job working as an intern orderly at Arkham Asylum.

_If anyone will be able to talk to me and help me make sense of how to handle some super-criminal in my life, it should be Steph,_ Leslie reasoned.  Or if nothing else, Steph would be sympathetic to her plight.  So Leslie dolled herself up not for a formal bash, but a potential girls’ night out.  She left for the party quite a bit earlier than the rest of her family; she didn’t want to talk with either her parents or her brothers, and knew if they had the chance to corner her, she wouldn’t be able to slip away.  No, she had to be quick and careful about this.

She half-wondered what Copperhead would say to her plan of action.

Asking one of the staff to drive her from the mansion out to the Beauregards’ wasn’t hard; most of the staff members never asked questions, especially when one built good relationships with them.  No, it was slipping down and staying out of sight of her family that was difficult.  Tony was looking for her and she had a close call where she almost ran into Steven as he was leaving one of the bathrooms.  But finally she made it out of the house and over to the Beauregard manor.

“Do call if you need a ride home, Miss Smith.” Her driver insisted.

“Of course; thank you, Jerry.” She answered, smiling before darting inside without waiting to be greeted by the ushers.  There were already some guests milling around in the corridors and heading toward the ballroom, and Leslie fell into step behind them, an unusual sensation boiling in her stomach.  Normally she felt at ease around people of high standing, to a degree; or at the very least, she was confident enough she could stride among them with her head held high and none would look at her askance.  But by now word must have gotten around that _something_ had happened between the Smiths resulting in Leslie’s confinement to her room.  Word always traveled fast in high society, and that would bring uncomfortable, prying questions.  If somehow people had heard or found out that a criminal like Copperhead was involved even indirectly, then the matter would only be made all the worse.

_I don’t want to be here,_ she realized abruptly, _at all._

Hugging her arms tightly and chewing her lower lip, she spun around and made to leave when a gentle hand touched her shoulder.

“Leslie?”

She tensed but then sighed with relief as she turned and saw Stephanie.  The older girl was looking at Leslie with concern in her dark eyes and a knowing expression on her face.  Without another word, she ushered Leslie into a small alcove in the hallway, avoiding any possible nosy guests.

“It’s good to see you Les, but what’s wrong?” she asked, brushing some of her long, blue-chalked bangs out of her face.  Leslie chewed on her lower lip some more and glanced back in the direction of the ballroom, shaking her head rapidly.

“That’s going to take some explaining, Steph.  And I’d rather not do it here, no offense.”

“None taken!” The older girl said reassuringly.  “Come on, we can sneak out through the kitchen.  Nobody’s going to be paying attention there.  Besides, we might be able to snag a cup of coffee or two for the road.”

The two quickly left the alcove, darting down a hall on the left and then to the right, then to the left again, arriving in the kitchens.  The air in there felt heavy and human, and Leslie blinked as some of the steam stung her eyes.  The Beauregard staff must have really decided to go all-out for this party, she realized.

“Miss Stephanie!” One of the cooks addressed them.  “Oh, and Miss Smith!  We thought you’d both be out enjoying the party, kicking off the festivities!”

“Well it _is_ what we do best, Arnie,” Leslie agreed as she recognized him, “but right now, some girl time is in order.

“Please don’t breathe a word,” Stephanie added to the kitchen at large.  “De-stressing with a friend won’t work if more stress just piles on.”

Arnie and several of the other cooks winked, saluted, murmured assent, or some combination of the three.  Steph ushered Leslie along, and before they made it out the back door the younger girl found a tumbler with a lid and straw shoved into her hands.  She gave her friend an inquisitive glance and received a wink in return as the door shut behind them.

“Frappuccino.  Trust me, you’ll need it while you rant, Les.”

“Oh, thank you-thank you- _thank you_!” Leslie exhaled in a sigh.  “I swear you always know _just_ what I need.”

“Hey, someone’s got to know these things, right?” Steph answered, shrugging it off as they made their way to her car.  Conversation turned temporarily to the basics, small talk no one would question should they chance upon the two young heiresses.  But once they were in the car and had decided on trying to find a small café to visit, Steph went patiently quiet and Leslie launched into an uncontrollable rant, the words spilling from her mouth faster than water moving through a sieve.

“Okay, please don’t judge, but I’ve been seeing a super-criminal.  Except I’m not really _seeing_ -seeing him, I just keep running into him.  Weirdest thing is, I don’t know how or why we keep bumping into each other but I think I kind of like this.  I _know_ he’s dangerous, Steph; I mean, I’m not stupid.  But I don’t think he’s going to try to hurt me or anything, because I feel like he would have done it by now if he was going to, you know what I’m saying?”

There was a hum and a nod from the driver’s seat.

“Right!” Leslie went on, encouraged.  “But so far, I mean he’s kind of like a friend, albeit a very confusing one with skewed social skills and some seriously bad fashion sense.”

“Wait.” Steph said slowly.  “How bad are we talking here?”

“He runs around in a bright-metallic-orange snake costume.”

“ _Oh_. Yikes.”

“Yes, exactly.  I’m not even sure _how_ I ran into this guy—but no, just kidding, we met at the mall—but clearly the Higher Powers of fashion decided that it was time for my Great Commission to convert Copperhead and show him the error of his ways.”

“Naturally.  And I’m guessing he’s been resistant so far?”

“Almost completely.” Leslie sighed.  “He at least let me buy him a suit, an actual _suit_ , but you would have thought it was a total nightmare or something.  He acted like Sophie was going to torture him.”

“He must not know tailors then.  At least it’s a start.” Stephanie remarked hearteningly as she pulled off the private drives of Gotham’s elite housing and went onto the highway.  She gave Leslie a reassuring smile.  “Go on.”

“Well…” Leslie faltered, starting to feel uncomfortable again.  She swallowed, reminding herself Steph was a safe place, and took a deep breath before continuing.  “I tried to kind of keep it a secret that I run into him so much, and I managed to for the most part up until last week.  Tony found out first and tried to help keep the secret for my sake, I think.  He didn’t really approve and he doesn’t trust Copperhead, but I feel like he really _did_ try.  But somehow Steven got it out of him and decided to be a dick about it.”

“Steven just being Steven then?” Steph asked with a bit of an eye roll.

“Yes.  And you know the second that happened, he went straight to Mom and Dad, and then they flipped out on me.  I was kind of expecting them to, but for totally different reasons than what they did.”

The older girl glanced over, not saying anything, but her puzzled, inquisitive stare was enough.  Leslie inhaled sharply again.

“They were angry because I’m risking staining _their_ public image and _their_ social standing by interacting with a criminal.”

Stephanie’s foot came down sharply on the break and they were jerked forward as the car came almost to a complete stop.  She spun half-around in the driver’s seat, her French braid whipping her face as she stared at Leslie in disbelief.

“They _what?!_ ” She spluttered for a moment before her words devolved into a dry chuckle that sounded infuriated.  “Ohh, honey.  Les, I am so, _so_ sorry.  I know _exactly_ how that feels, and I’m stunned your parents would even get hissy with you like this over something so trivial.”

“Why should it matter?” Leslie asked in a tiny voice after a long pause.  Steph began to ease back into a steady pace, ignoring several angry honks and rude hand gestures from passing cars, and she waited silently for her friend to continue.

“I mean, _why_?” Leslie repeated.  “They haven’t taken the time to get to know him.  No, it’s all judgement based on reputation.  I’m not saying we should automatically trust all super-criminals, that’s not wise.  But it’s unfair to not give someone a chance just because of what may be heard about them.  I mean… Do you ever wonder, Steph, if maybe the reason some of the patients at Arkham aren’t able to improve is because people don’t give them a chance and just automatically slap labels and limitations on them?”

“Sweetie.” Her friend sighed.  “I can tell you right now that _is_ part of the reason some Arkhamites haven’t done well when released with a clean bill of mental health.  And it really is unfair, to many more of them than I think people realize.”

Leslie raised an eyebrow.  She had always known the elder Beauregard sister to be very open-minded, but something in the way she was wording herself implied there might be a little more to it this time.

“Hey, there’s no call to look at me in that tone of voice.  But seriously, I work as an _orderly_ , doll; I’m hardly one to judge.  Just be wary, okay?”

“Trust me Steph, I will… Any thoughts on the situation concerning Tony, then?”

“Snitching being a sin,” Steph began, “but circumstances being what they were, now’d probably be fine to make amends, I think.  Or you know, maybe another day or two to drive the point home, but you’ll go stir-crazy cooped up in your room like that.  And speaking of stir-crazy… have you ever stopped by the Mad Tea House?  Anthea keeps recommending the place to me.  Apparently they have some of the best sponge cake in all of Gotham.”

*****

It had been a week, give or take a day or two, since Luiz had last seen or heard from the stubborn little princess of a rich girl.  This meant a Justice League-free week, a drama-free week, and overall no crazy little socialite to turn his world topsy-turvy.  For extra precaution he had been laying low in his safe house, venturing out only once to re-stock when his food supplies ran dangerously low.  Nobody had found the place yet and with a little luck, nobody would for a long time.

This unfortunately came with an added side effect: he was getting restless and bored.

Luiz wasn’t used to sitting complacently for very long stretches of time.  Telling himself this would help him avoid capture only did so much to alleviate the urge to get out there and loose all his pent-up energy.  And it wasn’t as though he had much to do in his hideout either.  There were still plenty of radios he could work on fixing up, including the WWII one, but if he constantly spent the week fixing them, what good would that do the next time he had to lay low for a week and got bored?  He would need _something_ to focus on.

“Not to mention I still need to pick up parts for a lot of them.” He would stubbornly remind himself whenever the urge to work on the radios came up.  So that was out of the question.  It wasn’t as though he could really get a satellite signal either, so the old little tube TV had a whole three channels, maybe four at times.  He needed a different outlet for his energy.

It occurred to him he could attempt to organize the place a little more, clean things up a bit.  There wasn’t much of a mess to straighten up however, when he looked around to assess the place.  His mother had long ago taught him to keep things relatively straightened and organized, and the habit still stuck somehow.  Despite the laziness he had acquired as he moved away from home, things rarely got disorganized or chaotic wherever he stayed.

Without meaning to, the specially-tailored suit Leslie had had that pin-sticking demon make for him caught his eye.  It was still in its protective plastic and still lying where he had half-flung it the first night back.  Luiz chewed his lip as an unexpected twinge of guilt tightened his chest.  True, he hadn’t really wanted the clothes to begin with, but the suit was still a gift.  In fact, it was probably one of the nicest gifts he had ever received in his life.

Hesitantly he walked over and picked up the suit, studying it momentarily before taking it to a modest chest of drawers in a corner.  He had a feeling Leslie would rant his ear off if she heard he tucked it in a drawer rather than hang it up properly, but at least this was better than just leaving it lying around.  Really, what had she been thinking?  When would _he_ ever wear something so expensive and spiffy-looking?  He never had occasion to.

_Unless she was also planning to give me a reason to wear it._

The thought wasn’t in his head long before he started laughing at it.  Yeah, _right_!  The little princess was even crazier than he’d first thought if she entertained the idea he would come as a guest to some high-society shindig.  No, if he ever went to one of those things, it was because he was planning to rob all those rich suckers blind.

“Hey wait a minute…”

That wasn’t a half-bad idea.  He glanced back down at the plastic-wrapped suit and then over to his costume’s headpiece where it sat on a workbench.  The wheels in his head were turning almost faster than he could keep up with as the idea took shape.

“I could go to one of those stupid functions in the suit…” he murmured to himself.  “And then I could slip out of sight, switch outfits, and raise a little Hell.  Then while they’re all losing their minds and waiting for the morons in tights, I can sneak away, stash the loot and my costume, and put the suit back on and blend back in.”

It wasn’t a perfect idea.  God knew it would take some planning and even then there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t fall through.  But Luiz was a man of practicality; if he was going to own a suit, it was going to be useful and serve a purpose beyond just making him look sharp or classy.  Giving him an edge in a getaway plan seemed as good a purpose as any.

“I really should thank Leslie properly.”  He remarked as he held up the suit again. Once more he felt an unexpected twinge of guilt, and some tiny voice that may have been his personal Jiminy Cricket told him Leslie would probably be distraught to see him putting her gift to such use.  He snorted at the thought.

“She won’t be thinking that when the very-rich Venezuelan oil merchant Luiz Vibaro shows up and sweeps her off her feet for a dance!”  He said with a grin, puffing out his chest and stroking his chin in a mild attempt to feel diabolically cunning.

_Seriously, man?  Overconfidence much?_ His own thoughts harshly interrupted his day-dreaming, sounding vaguely like that Flash idiot.   _And just who are you posing for right now anyway?  You’re the only one down here._

Great.  His personal Jiminy Cricket sounded like The Flash.

“I really need to get out for a bit.” He muttered, shaking his head and putting the suit back in the drawer.  “I’m going stir-crazy.”

As he donned his jacket and a pair of sunglasses, he decided he could really go for some coffee.  It probably wasn’t the best thing for him if he was going stir-crazy from being cooped up for a while, but it would at least wake him up a bit.  He doubted it was safe either, going out in public… but then again, didn’t the Mad Hatter’s fiancée run a café that was open as an after-hours safe haven to most Gothamite Rogues?  What was it called, the Crazy Tea Cozy or something dumb like that?

Well, he wasn’t keen on the Wonderlandian brand of outright nuttiness, but maybe this time he could give it a shot.


	9. Call Me [Emma] Erin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original intention of the chapter title was to have the name "Emma" crossed out, but HTML coding and stuff sucks.  
> Was also meant to be a sly reference to a certain matchmaking heroine from a Jane Austen book.

Miss Erin Knightly was a friendly soul with an open mind, something of a rarity in Gotham City.  Then again, considering her customer base at her tea shop was primarily comprised of criminals and she herself was engaged to such an individual, it wasn’t exactly difficult to peg her as a very non-judgmental person.  Erin firmly believed everyone deserved second chances, and that kindness and compassion could help to change the hearts and minds of most people.  It was a philosophy she did her best to live by and strove to teach others.  The trouble there was many people weren’t willing to be so open-minded.

A lack of open-minded individuals was actually why Erin’s staff was so minimal.  She was willing to consider hiring anyone who was familiar with Lewis Carroll’s _Alice In Wonderland_ but given the Mad Tea House’s primary clientele, she didn’t want anyone working under her who would consider endangering her customers.  This marginalized the number of potential employees drastically, but for the most part the undaunted Miss Knightly found she didn’t mind.  She’d spent the past couple of years establishing the Mad Tea House as a safe haven for Gotham’s rogues, and she wasn’t about to just toss that down the drain.

_Still,_ Erin thought as she wiped the sweat from her brow, _it would be nice to have a little more help around here.  Heaven knows I need it._

She was in the process of closing to the general public for the day, which meant for the most part closing the vast majority of the store.  She kept the back open in the event any of her _other_ customers showed up after hours.  But in the meantime she was still sweeping, wiping down, cleaning, counting stock, and putting up chairs in the dining room.  She was little more than halfway done when there came a gentle tapping at the front door.  Surprised, she leaned her broom up against one of the tables and walked around to the outside-facing wall.  Who in the world could it be?

Much to her surprise a pair of young women were waiting outside with curious expressions.  Neither of them she knew personally, but Erin recognized Stephanie Beauregard rather quickly.  Stephanie’s younger sister Anthea would frequently visit the tea shop and it was thanks to this that Erin knew Stephanie’s face from having seen several pictures of the young woman.  She didn’t know who the platinum-blonde girl was but she hazarded a guess the two young women were socialite friends.  However, it seemed very odd two of Gotham’s elite children would turn up at the tea shop after hours.

_Then again,_ Erin thought, _Anthea said Stephanie works at Arkham, so perhaps she knows about the shop’s “evening hours”.  Maybe she’s here with news and her friend just happened to be with her._

To the average long-term Gotham resident, this would have been deemed a very unsafe train of thought.  After all, there was no such thing as being _too_ careful in this city.  But if there was anyone in Gotham who could talk themselves into opening their door to two complete strangers after dark, it was probably Erin Knightly.

Still, she wasn’t completely without caution and she opened the door only a couple of feet as she greeted the two.  “Good evening, girls.  Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Stephanie answered with a friendly smile.  “I’m really sorry to bother you at closing, but my friend and I were just wondering if you still have any sponge cake left over.  We just could use a pick-me-up for all this heavy discussion.  We’ll gladly pay extra too, it’s not a bother.”

Something about the mention of heavy discussion prodded at Erin’s maternal, big sisterly instincts, and she opened the door wider to let them in.  “Oh no, no, no,” she said cheerily.  “It’s not a problem.  Please, come inside!”

“Oh!  Well thank you!  Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude; my name is Stephanie Be—”

“Beauregard,” Erin finished with a nod as the two walked inside.  “I know.  Your sister’s talked about you quite a bit.  She showed me pictures of you two together.”

While Steph raised an eyebrow, the blonde girl stepped forward and shook Erin’s hand.  “And I’m Leslie Smith.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, girls.  Erin Knightly,” she said with a warm smile.  “Welcome to the Mad Tea House.”

*****

It quickly became apparent to the well-intentioned Ms. Knightly both of the young ladies were clearly kindred spirits.  She could have deduced as much about Stephanie from what Anthea had said, but it was a delight to discover the same was true about Leslie as well.  The two happily paid for their pound cake and Steph invited Erin to join their conversation.  Upon pulling up a seat, Leslie launched into an animated explanation of what brought them to the tea shop… starting all the way at the very beginning.

Evidently Leslie had met a super-criminal named Copperhead.  This wasn’t too surprising, as there was a surplus of super-criminals running around, especially in Gotham City.

To be precise, Leslie had met him at the mall.  Not too surprising to Erin personally; stranger things happened.  After all, Erin herself wouldn’t have met her fiancé if she hadn’t tripped over Jervis when he was sprawled on the sidewalk.

Then the story got interesting.  Leslie had hoodwinked Copperhead into being her personal pack mule for a couple of hours.  On this Erin found she really had no comment, and tried to keep a neutral expression as she pointedly sipped her cup of tea.

Since this memorable first meeting, Leslie had encountered Copperhead about… well, quite a few more times actually.  At this, Erin’s ears perked up a bit and she began to listen more intently, her romance senses tingling.  Surely this could be no mere coincidence that the two kept running into one another!

Ah, but there was a snag.

_Balderdash,_ Erin grumbled to herself.   _There’s always a snag in a budding young romance._

Said snag turned out to be Leslie’s family, upon learning of her many numerous run-ins with Copperhead, had forbidden the young woman and the Metahuman criminal from ever seeing one another again.  This brought the story to the current moment.  Leslie was attending a high society function with her family at the Beauregard estate and feeling uncomfortable and pensive, she and Stephanie had left the party to talk about the matter.  And due to Anthea’s recommendation of the tea shop—

“Here we are.” Leslie finished with a weak chuckle and a shrug.

“I see,” Erin remarked thoughtfully.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to just dump all of this on a total stranger.”

“Oh no, honey!  You’re fine!  Here, have some more pound cake.  I’m just going to go make some fresh tea.”

And with that quick dismissal, Erin darted to the kitchen, her mind racing along as a thought hopped along in her head like the White Rabbit.  These were both sweet young women and she trusted Stephanie was kind to Jervis in the event her duties as an orderly ever brought her in contact with Erin’s fiancé.  And Leslie appeared to be cut from the same cloth as the older Beauregard daughter.  She was very open-minded and non-judgmental.

Erin tapped her index fingers together against her chin in thought as the tea brewed.  There was no evidence Leslie had a job of any kind.  Erin would have to ask about that, but in the event the girl had no job at present…

A thought popped into her head, squeaking in a shrill Dormouse voice.   _But I’ve no idea if she has either read or is familiar with_ Alice In Wonderland _, either!_

She was on the verge of saying one of Jervis’s swears— “Jabberwock’s teeth!” —when the thought of her fiancé gave her pause.  She’d always been fond of Carroll’s work to start with, but her love and respect for all things Wonderlandian had only increased upon meeting Jervis and developing a relationship with him.

_Just because she may not know doesn’t mean she can’t come to appreciate it later,_ Erin reasoned with herself.   _Besides, the poor girl is clearly starting to fall in love with this young man!  To think her parents wouldn’t give this Copperhead a chance simply because he’s a criminal!  Why, they ought to be locked up for a day or two, see how they like it!  It’s precisely this sort of prejudice that my shop is against, and thankfully Leslie doesn’t share in that mindset.  I know she would like to see him some more, and what better, safer place than here?  Everyone is welcome in my shop, after all.  And if I’m being honest with myself, I really could use the help._

“That’s it, I’ve decided!” she declared triumphantly, smacking a fist against her open palm.  “I’ll offer Ms. Smith a part-time job!”

She spun around, preparing to pick out a variety of tea bags.

And unexpectedly came face-to-face with a man who was staring at her on the other side of the counter.  Erin froze, her yelp catching in her throat.

“You know,” the man said slowly with a bit of a rolling accent marking his speech, “I was going to ask if you still had any coffee left, but I’m not so sure.”

Erin’s mouth moved soundlessly as she tried to find words to form a sentence and failed to do so.

“When you say ‘Ms. Smith’,” he remarked, pulling off the sunglasses he wore to reveal amber eyes with slits for pupils, “you wouldn’t happen to be talking about a teeny platinum-blonde socialite with a butterfly tattoo and sends glittery scented letters, would you?”

Erin worked her mouth for a second, trying to process what was happening.  A complete stranger had entered the teashop after “civilian” hours.  Not only that, but Erin had double-checked that she had locked the front door after letting the girls in.  So where had he come from?  Certainly not the back entrance; all three of them would have seen him!  And there was no way anybody could climb through the vents, surely.  Furthermore, why was he asking her that particular question?

A normal person would have panicked and made a dash for the phone to dial nine-one-one.  However Erin was hardly normal, and so she did the first thing that made sense in her mind.

“Ms. Smith?” she called, raising her voice without looking away from those reptilian eyes.  “Do you send glittery, scented letters to people?”

There was a brief second of silence before Leslie’s voice called back an answer.  “Sometimes, yeah.  Letter-writing is like a dying art form you know, like stained glass window-making.  Why?”

The man let out an exasperated sound and rolled his eyes to the heavens.  “Of _course_ she’s here right now.  Why wouldn’t she be?” he muttered.  Erin was just preparing herself to lecture him on his manners when darting footsteps could be heart, and Leslie and Steph appeared in the doorway.  The redhead’s attention immediately went Leslie, and Erin had to hide a grin when the young socialite’s face lit up at the sight of the man.  So _this_ was Copperhead!  And Leslie _did_ like him that way.

“Copper?  What are you doing here?” she asked excitedly.

“I _was_ hoping to get some coffee,” he answered in a bit of a flat tone that indicated he now doubted this would happen.  A second later he shook his head and goggled at Leslie suspiciously as if he was only just now seeing her.  “Wait a minute, what are _you_ doing here?  Are you actually _trying_ to find me, or does the universe just think this is funny?”

“No, I just needed some girl time,” she replied, stepping to the side so she could gesture between him and Steph.  “Copperhead, I’d like you to meet Stephanie.  She’s a very close family friend of mine.  Steph, _this_ is Copper… er, sans the costume, of course.”

The older girl regarded him with a mix of polite confusion and carefully concealed amusement.  Copperhead’s wary expression barely changed however.  He looked more than a little uneasy and after a moment, he leaned forward a couple of inches and sniffed the air.  The two girls exchanged confused looks before Steph asked in a neutral voice, “Is uh, everything alright?”

“You have mixed smells,” Copperhead declared, stroking his chin pensively.  “Kind of like halfway between a clinical smell and the same kind of scent I got off Leslie’s family manor.  It’s not a bad thing, just strange, _eso es todo_.”

Leslie immediately hid her face in her hands in embarrassment, unable to believe he had had the nerve to say something like that so bluntly.  Stephanie’s eyebrows lifted high, nearly vanishing into her chalked bangs.

“Oh,” she said slowly.  “Well.  Thank you, I guess?”

As Erin watched the entire exchange, her mind started wandering.  Copperhead and Leslie were startled to have run into one another, and Erin couldn’t help but feel somehow _Destiny was involved_.

Or, that is to say, destiny.(*)  It wasn’t necessarily a concept Erin dwelled on often, but she was a firm believer in the power of love and romance, and she did believe fate and destiny often had a part to play in romantic love.  Leslie and Copperhead just kept running into one another like this?  Even just now in her tea shop, no less!

_Coincidence?  I think NOT!_ Erin’s brain declared triumphantly.

And then it occurred to her.

These two were just beginning to explore the uncharted territory of a romance together and if circumstances kept pushing them together, that meant it had to be fated!  And if fate tied to their romance had brought both of them here to the tea shop, then that had to be the universe’s sign saying she, Erin, was meant to be their guide and enabler on this wondrous journey!

She struggled to keep her mouth closed upon having this epiphany, and even so she couldn’t hide her smile of excitement.  Of course!  There was no wonder Erin had felt so compelled to help.  It was because she was _meant_ to!  And so, straightening up as smart as she could, she cleared her throat, prepared to help destiny along.

“Oh, sorry Ms. Knightly,” Leslie began apologetically as the other three turned to her, but Erin cut her off.

“I have been doing some thinking and I have come to a conclusion,” she announced in a lofty, important sort of manner.  “Ms. Smith, I would like to offer you a part-time job.  How would you like to work here at the Mad Tea House for me, starting out on weekends?  You could earn some money to set aside, _and_ you could get to see Copperhead whenever you like.  I accept all sorts of customers in my shop.”

Three pairs of eyes blinked.

“Wait, what?”  Copperhead evidently hadn’t fully processed what she had said.  On the other hand, Leslie’s eyes were going huge.

“Are you serious?” she asked in stunned disbelief.

“But you met her less than an hour ago,” Stephanie remarked uncertainly.

“And why do you just assume I factor into the equation, exactly?” the snake-man demanded, crossing his arms.

“Well,” Erin said, opting to answer just the girls, “I _will_ require you to fill out an application and paperwork, and we’ll have to have a proper interview and orientation.  But based upon what you have shown me since you and Ms. Beauregard dropped by, I think you’re just the sort of person I’ve been looking to hire!”

Leslie beamed with unchecked joy.  “Y-you mean that?  Oh my gosh… I uh, I’ll need to talk with my family about it.  I mean, I’m not sure what they’ll say, but wow, just… wow!  A part-time job… Thank you, Ms. Knightly!”

Erin smiled warmly at the younger girl and extended her hand for a shake.  Leslie took the offered hand and shook it, pumping Erin’s arm up and down enthusiastically.  The redhead exhaled, realizing she had been holding back some tension.  After all, her wedding to Jervis was coming up very soon.  With some hired help around, she should be able to run the shop _and_ prepare for the big day with a little less stress.

“So… does this mean I can come visit her and get free coffee?”

Erin’s blue eyes snapped onto the snake-man and she planted her hands on her hips.  “Now see here, sir,” she began, adopting an authoritative tone.  “I’ll not have you trying to exploit my employee to get free beverages before she’s even been formally hired!”

To her befuddlement he merely shrugged, unfazed by her.  “Eh, it was worth a shot.  And speaking of coffee and shots, could I buy an espresso or do I need to go somewhere else?”

“Copper!” Leslie muttered at him out of the corner of her mouth, tossing an irritated look over her shoulder.  “Be nice!”

“I _am_ being nice!” he protested.  “I’m a customer; didn’t you hear me use the word ‘buy’?  That means I’m gonna pay for it.  It’s the whole reason I came here in the first place.  Any other con with my rep would probably just bust the door in, take the whole cash register out, and steal the cappuccino machine!  So you see this, what I’m doing right here, _chica_?  I’m being _super_ nice.”

“He’s actually got a decent point, you know,” Steph chimed in, which got her more than one look of surprise.  Leslie shook her head in resignation and attempted to fix the Metahuman criminal with a withering look, but she couldn’t quite hide the smile that was forming underneath.

“Alright, fine.  You win,” she chuckled.  “Ms. Knightly, may I please also buy some more coffee from you?”

Erin relented without objection.  “Give me just a few minutes.”  She let them take seats as she went to double-check the tea and get some coffee started, the wheels in her head slowly turning.  These two were meant to get together, she was sure of it.  And they _would_ get together; she would see to it!  Unfortunately, the young socialite and this jewel thief were a curiously odd pair, and that was saying something, given some of Erin’s friends and _their_ love lives!

_I won’t be able to rely on my experience with Jervis, or Lewis Carroll’s writing this time.  Not solely, anyway,_ she told herself.   _But then, what shall I do to be the best matchmaker for them that I can?_

It took her a moment of thinking, but then she stumbled across a solution.  She could start by reading another book, one she’d not yet read.  After all, she’d heard the virtues of Jane Austen’s writing talked about for years!  Perhaps it was finally time to give her books a shot.  And wasn’t _Emma_ Austen’s book about a woman who played matchmaker for her friends?

“Yes!  It’s meant to be!” she exclaimed proudly.

Between bringing Stephanie more tea and fixing up coffee for both Leslie and Copperhead, Erin placed a discreet phone call.  She reached only the voice mail, but that didn’t bother her.  She knew Jeanette Harker would be thrilled when she checked her messages to hear Erin was finally taking her up on her offer to read Jane Austen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*) Clarification had to be made after Destiny of The Endless called and demanded that he be left out of this nonsense. He's far too serious to cameo in something like _Courting Vipers_.


	10. The Mad Tea House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter intended to overlap with the events of _Being Human_. Said chapter for _Being Human_ is unfortunately, not yet finished, but I'm getting there.

Leslie wasn’t sure she had ever been quite so excited for anything in her life as she was for this new job.  True, she got excited often and for many various reasons, but this felt like a different sort of excitement.  It wasn’t the kind you just talked about to anyone, though she seriously wanted to.  It felt like something she wanted to hold inside, to keep secret until she was ready to stride out proudly and wear the accomplishment on her sleeve.  Of course this desire for secrecy stemmed from looming doubt.  Kensington and Cheryl Smith weren’t going to prevent any of their children from getting a part-time job, but it didn’t take a detective to figure out from their derisive sniffing that they didn’t exactly approve either.

_Well, they’re not going to intimidate me out of this job,_ Leslie told herself determinedly.  They could forbid her from seeking out Copperhead, but the fact she would be earning money at a first job wasn’t something her parents could say no to.  Granted, they would like the fact she would be working at the Mad Tea House far less than if she were working someplace else, but at that point she didn’t care.  If they were going to be disapproving of any job, then there was no point in fussing about where it was.  That gave way to a different concern however.

_What am I going to do with the money I earn?  
_   
Saving it was the smart thing to do, particularly if she wanted to eventually move out.  But that meant having to put it all in a separate bank account and keep total control over it out of her parents’ hands.  Figuring out how to accomplish that was going to be a challenge all its own.  Perhaps Ms. Knightly would be able to offer her a solution of sorts when they talked.  But come what may, she wasn’t about to let her parents stop her!

Entering the parking garage that day, she found to her surprise that Tony was sitting around in his Hummer, looking positively sulky behind the wheel.  For a brief instant she wondered why he looked so uptight, but studying his scowl put the cogs in her brain in motion.  It was a ten-to-one bet that her parents were expecting her to go out, and since she usually preferred borrowing Tony’s Hummer to Steven’s sports car, they’d told him to play guard dog.  Well, two could play this game!

Steeling herself and working on a plan, Leslie broke into a confident stride straight for the Hummer.  To her amazement Tony didn’t seem to notice her at all, and as soon as she got close enough to knock on the window he nearly jumped out of his skin as her knuckles rapped on the glass.  She watched her brother heave a sigh, guilt written all over his face as he lowered the driver’s side window.  For a long moment they assessed one another, each equally tense at the other’s presence, but it was just a moment and it vanished in a blink as Leslie thought of something to say.

“Any special reason you’re just sitting around in your mobile man cave, watching the open garage door?”

Tony let out a splutter of indignation, protesting, “It is _not_ a mobile man cave!”  She arched an eyebrow in response and all the fight left him as he leaned his head against the steering wheel with a groan.  “Okay, okay… You were probably going to figure it out anyway.  Dad asked me to follow you to this new job of yours and see what it was, so I could tell him and Mom.”

She bristled a little on the inside as he confirmed her suspicions.  Of course.  She went and made a friend and the second the parental units found out about the “escaped con” bit, suddenly they gave enough of a crap to both become helicopters.

“Yeah, I had a feeling that was it,” she admitted.  On a whim and feeling defiantly gutsy, she continued, “I’ve got nothing to hide; it’s just a part time job at a little cafe.  Mind giving me a ride there if you’re going to be playing covert ops?”

It was totally worth it to see her brother’s jaw drop like she’d just been declared President of the United States or something.

_I’d make the best freaking first female president in office too._  
  
She watched for a second longer as Tony seemed to have some kind of internal battle before he finally closed his mouth and shook his head in resignation.  A popping click signaled the Hummer’s doors unlocking and Leslie let out a sigh of relief as she ran around to the passenger side before her brother could change his mind.

Of course, there was always the possibility he would freak out once he set eyes on the Mad Tea House, but with any luck he would keep his silence.  And if he didn’t get the hint he needed to, she’d stomp on his toes to reinforce the memo.

*****

The inside of Ms. Knightly’s cafe was even more eye-catching during the light of day.  The instant they walked  inside, the decor drew Leslie’s attention in every direction possible.  The tables had been customized to resemble spotted mushrooms and the chairs had a floral design around their legs, the sort of patio chairs you might find in the garden of an older woman.  The signs that hung around to indicate restrooms, tea selections for purchase, or that nobody save employees should be behind the counter were all whimsical and politely confusing in a purely “Wonderland” way.  A high shelf hung on the back of the wall to display decorative tchotchkes to add to the appearance of the tea shop, complete with an ornamental Cheshire Cat.

Leslie soaked it all in, relaxing in the cozy atmosphere.

“You know, I think this place could become my home away from home,” she declared.  Tony turned away from the display he’d been staring at to give her a slightly aghast look.  He didn’t get a chance to say anything—though his face indicated he was clearly thinking ‘ _please_ tell me you’re _joking_ ’—before Miss Knightly’s voice spoke up.

“Oh, that’s absolutely wonderful to hear, Miss Smith!”

Leslie spun around, smiling at the older woman as she approached the counter.  Erin looked genuinely delighted to see her as she continued to busy herself, wiping down the countertop with a damp cloth.  Wondering if she would have to do that as part of her job duties, Leslie looked down and watched the way Erin performed the task, hoping to memorize quickly.

“This place is fantastic and being here feels so cozy,” Leslie explained.  “Even if it’s to work, I think I could really get used to coming to this place and spending time here.”

Erin beamed at her, utterly delighted.  “You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that,” she stated.  “I’ve had the tea shop for a little while now and it certainly is a second home to me.  Some of my closest friends will stop in often but you know, not a one has ever mentioned enjoying my tea shop that way.  Knowing a future employee feels that way?  Suddenly I feel a bit more appreciated.”

Leslie was stunned speechless for a moment by those words, that Miss Knightly’s own friends didn’t love her cafe in such a manner.  She wanted to say something on the matter of these friends but had no clue _what_ to say, and Tony’s sudden interjection was almost a relief.

“So, uh… I hope you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, but what prompted you to offer my sister a job?”

“Hmm?” Erin looked to him, blinking.  “Sorry, what was the question?”

“I was just wanting to know what exactly had prompted you to offer Leslie a job,” he repeated patiently.

_Almost_ a relief.  Immediately Leslie remembered Erin pointing out working at the cafe would provide her with the chance to see Copperhead whenever she wanted and broke out in a panicked sweat.  Much as she appreciated Tony’s apology about before, she didn’t want to give him much to actually take back that might reach their parents’ ears somehow.  Silently she prayed the redheaded cafe owner would omit that particular bit of the offer.  Lord only knew how Tony would take it.

Thankfully though, Erin must have been psychic or something because she was on the ball right away and suddenly all business.

“Well, there are a number of reasons,” she answered.  “Not the least of those reasons is that I could certainly use a few more hands around to help maintain the shop.  I’ve had four other employees quit in the past; at the moment it’s just me and my employee Miles, who helps with almost all of the closing shifts.  But more importantly, when Leslie was in here the other evening she displayed friendliness and an open-mindedness that people just don’t _have_ towards each other any more!”

Leslie inched slightly away from her brother, hoping to avoid being asked any uncomfortable questions concerning Erin’s explanation.  However he just seemed to admit defeat instead, muttering, “Oh.  Uh, right,” as he slapped his hands against his thighs and turned away.  Leslie’s jaw dropped slightly and she leaned forward across the counter.

“How did you do that?” she whispered in a hiss.  “Tell me your secrets!”

Erin gave her a conspiratorial wink, reaching around to grab a teacup.  “Trade secret,” she replied.  “You’ll learn it in time.”  She raised her voice back to its normal levels, probably to keep Tony from getting too nosy.  “So you’ll be starting off on the weekends and you’ll be doing a lot of miscellaneous tasks, usually with cleaning and helping to maintain the store.  I’ll try to oversee as much of your training as I can, but chances are high you’ll be working alongside Miles a lot.”

“You mentioned him before,” Leslie said with a nod.  “Has he been here a long time?”

“A handful of months, give or take,” Erin replied.  “But he’s very dedicated and he picked up the work pretty fast, bless him!  I think the two of you together will really help me whip this place back into shape!”

The heiress’s gaze darted around from place to place, making tiny spot inspections of the teashop, and she found herself momentarily confused.  Nothing seemed out of place or dirty, and she didn’t see anything that looked to be in need of repair.  What was Erin talking about?

“It already looks great to me,” she pointed out, and the older woman started chuckling.  Off to the side, Leslie heard Tony excuse himself and she glanced sideways in time to see him dart out the door like a man on a mission.  She put it aside; if Tony actually ran off and forgot about her, he would be more likely to freak out about it later than she would.

“You flatter me, Miss Smith.  Trust me when I say the store could look a lot better than it does right now.  Once you start working here you’ll begin to see what I mean,” Erin decreed.  “And speaking of which, while we’re on the subject, when could you do an orientation for your training?”

Leslie bounced her shoulders in a quick shrug.  “Well, I’m here now.  Does that work?  Or should I come back some other time?”

Erin glanced around the empty teashop like she half-expected customers to spontaneously materialize.  “Well I suppose while we have a moment, I could try to run you through an orientation and give you paperwork to fill out and sign.  And you can meet Miles so you can be acquainted once you’re on the schedule.”

“That works!”

“Do you think your brother will mind?”

“He shouldn’t.”

“He _did_ just rush outside moments ago.”

“Yeah, I’m not too fussed.  I’m sure he knows how stupid it is to just leave me alone in the middle of Gotham City.  Trust me, Tony’s the uber-responsible one of the family.”

“Lovely!”  Erin grinned broadly as she stepped out from behind her counter.  “Come along; if we’re quick, hopefully no customers will be left waiting in my absence!”

She ushered Leslie along, leading her toward the same back room where she’d served her and Stephanie their refreshments earlier in the week.  Leslie wondered if this was the back room for the guests or the break room for the employees, then determined given the criminal association of Miss Knightly’s fiancé that perhaps it was best not to ask.  Leslie had no sooner seated herself in a chair Erin had pulled out for her than a man she’d not seen earlier walked into the room with them.

“Sorry for the delay, Erin,” he spoke with the hint of a regional accent—Leslie couldn’t quite place it—and his voice had a slightly rough quality associated with habitual smoking.  “Woulda gotten here sooner but I got held up in traffic at the corner of Glen and Burbank.”

As he spoke, Leslie took a moment to assess the stranger.  She figured this had to be Miles, based on the way he addressed Miss Knightly.  He was about average height, with messy brown hair and light brown eyes, and had a lean look about his person that Leslie felt might have come from malnutrition as much as genetic build.  When he turned to look at her, she noticed a scar that cleaved his right eyebrow in two and absently she wondered how in the world he’d gotten it.

“So you’ve gotta be Leslie, then,” he said without preamble or second-guessing the notion.  A wide grin split his face, taking her a bit by surprise, and he extended his hand to her.  “Nice to meetcha.”

“Thanks!  And you’re Miles?” she asked pleasantly as she shook the offered hand, surprised again when he quickly dropped the handshake.  He gave a brief nod but didn’t say anything further before Erin exclaimed in delight.

“Oh, frabjuous day!  I have a feeling we’re all going to get along fantastically!”  She gave a small clap with her hands and then gave Leslie a once-over before tossing a glance to Miles.  “What do you think?  Who should she dress as?”

“Dress as?” Leslie echoed, eyes widening as she grinned.  Were they suggesting what she thought they were?  She took a none-too-subtle glance at the ‘Alice’ dress Erin was wearing.  “You mean, my work uniform gets to be a cute character costume?”

“Eh, might not be cute,” Miles remarked.  “I mean we might make ya dress up like the Dodo bird or something.”

“Oh you stop that!” Erin scolded, reaching over and lightly thumping her senior employee on the shoulder.  “He doesn’t mean that, dear.  I’ll let you pick a suitable character that you want, provided it’s not already taken.”  A look of realization came over her face and she added more seriously, “Or the Cheshire Cat.  Trust me, you’re better off staying far away from anything to do with the Cat.”

“O-okay then?” Leslie responded, looking to Miles for some sort of explanation.

“Trust _me_ , you’re better off not knowin’,” he answered in a low voice, shaking his head dismissively.  “I asked about it once.  Involves some crazy teleportation-style crap, ruined cases of tea, sugar all over the floor and some kinda nasty, sexist note flung in her face.  You don’t want or need t’know right now, and you probably shouldn’t ever ask.”

She nodded in dumbfound silence and did her best to put aside the confusion concerning the apparently abhorrent Cheshire Cat—was this some former employee having gone off the rails or something?— and glanced toward the teashop entrance as the bell above its door tinkled and chimed.  Tony was walking back inside, looking somewhat like he’d eaten a bunch of lemons while stepping in wet cement or something equally awful.  She held back a grimace and as she looked at her brother she concluded that not being allowed to dress like a proverbial “cat girl” was probably a wise option after all.

“Could you excuse me for just a second?” she asked, getting out of her chair as Erin nodded.  Running out from the back room she approached her brother, surprised by the apparent and very sudden dip in Tony’s mood.  The thought occurred that something might have happened to his Hummer and immediately she felt a small twinge of guilt for asking him for a ride all the way out here.

“Hey uh, Ton’?  Everything okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?  Yeah, uh…”  He scratched the back of his neck, frowning down at his shoes.  “Y’know Les, I don’t really know right now.”

Okay so maybe something wasn’t wrong with the mobile man cave specifically, but in the span of time between Tony darting outside and now, whatever had happened had been more than enough to screw with his mood.  Hoping he wasn’t thinking of taking them both home that second, Leslie inhaled deep to address him.

“Well, uh… I’ve kind of got an orientation to get through, and Miss Knightly-Tetch—”

“She hyphenates?” Tony asked in surprise.  “I thought she wasn’t married yet?”

“Not totally sure; I’m just guessing,” Leslie replied dismissively.  “Anyway, point is that she wants me to go ahead and get started on that.”

“You have any idea how long your orientation is gonna go?”

Crap, she hadn’t asked that.  Making weak, helpless gestures she answered, “Well, it can’t take more than an hour or two at max, right?”

Tony’s suspicious frown lasted only a second before he sighed and shrugged.  “Yeah, that sounds about average for a job orientation.”  He paused long enough to give her a questioning look.  “I take it you want me to get lost, huh?”

“Either that or you could hang around and wait for me,” Leslie offered, making a sweeping gesture with one hand to indicate the store.  “Dunno if the whole Wonderland theme will keep you occupied though.”

“Nah, I get it,” he responded before she finished speaking.  “I’ll be more help if I’m out of the way.  Tell you what, I’ll go driving, you call me when you’re ready to be picked up.  Cool?”

“Cool as ice.  Drive safe, Lieutenant Jock-Strap.”

The Hummer’s keys waggled at her in a menacing fashion as Tony headed out the door.  “We are _so_ going to have a talk about that nickname when I get back, squirt.”

The bell jangled as the door shut behind him and Leslie let out an exhale of relief.

“So you think if we set the seat of his pants on fire, he would have been out the door any faster?”

She spun around as Miles spoke behind her, his eyes following Tony’s progress outside.

“Miles!” Erin scolded again, walking out from the back of the store to joint them.  “I’m sure Mr. Smith didn’t mean anything by it.”

“He didn’t,” Leslie promised, feeling it was only fair to defend him.  “Now if it was my other brother, he’d totally be out to offend _and_ show everyone up in the process.”

“Oh, he sounds like a trip-and-a-half.”

“Miles,” Erin’s tone was bordering on reprimand as she strode over and held out a pen and notepad to him.  “Please if you don’t mind, I’d like you to watch the front of the house while I get Miss Smith started.”

“You got it, boss,” he answered, nodding and tossing a mischievous wink.  Erin held back a good-natured smile as she ushered Leslie to the back room for a second time.  The younger woman glanced back as the bell over the door chimed yet again and Miles immediately greeted the customer that walked in.

“So that’s Miles?” she asked.

“Of course!  What did you think of him?”

Leslie shrugged.  “Honestly I’m not sure yet.  He like, kinda strikes me as a little weird, but he’s pretty nice.  Er, I think?”  She seated herself when they got to the back table once more, excitement building up in her.  “So like, are we going to start?”

Erin nodded, moving to open up the top drawer of a filing cabinet.  She rummaged for a second or two, and then pulled out several stacks of paper.  Leslie’s eyebrows shot upward as she looked at the thickness of the stack, which Erin promptly set before her with a pen balanced on top of the paper.

“Like I said, paperwork has to be seen to, you know.  These are a couple of basic employment forms, a direct deposit form in the event you would prefer that to a paper pay stub, some informational papers so you’re aware of your rights as a working employee, and your homework packet.”

“Uh, what?  A _homework_ packet?” Leslie echoed in disbelief.  Surely she’d heard that wrong…

“Yes, your homework packet!” Erin affirmed, planting her hands on her hips and beaming with pride.  “One simply _must_ brush up on their knowledge of Carroll’s works if they intend to work at The Mad Tea House and keep up the atmosphere of my establishment!”

Leslie worked her mouth soundlessly for a second before riffling through the stack of papers.  She could appreciate the value of selling something genuine, but did Miss Knightly really want her to read a book just for this job?  She located the packet in short order, pulling it out the bottom of the stack and promptly blanching of all color.

The stupid thing was twenty-six pages long.

She flipped through and somehow drained even _further_ of color.

Twenty-six pages long _with essay questions._

“Is everything alright, Miss Smith?”

Leslie looked up at this concerned question, gulping.  Working up a shaky smile, she managed a weak nod.  “Y-yeah.  C-cool as ice,” she fibbed.  The fact that Steven still probably had a copy of the _Alice in Wonderland_ SparkNotes was lodged in her mind, a potential saving grace for this unforeseen turn of events.

_If he ever lets me live this down when I ask to borrow it,_ she thought in mild horror.  It would be worth Steven’s snarking in the end, of course.  It had to be.

_I hope._


End file.
